


Twisted Tales

by Grl_on_Fire



Series: The Tales of Isabelle Riddle [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Deceit, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Draco Malfoy x OC - Freeform, F/M, Friendship, Harry Potter - Freeform, Romance, Trust, voldemort - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25223167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grl_on_Fire/pseuds/Grl_on_Fire
Summary: "I believe you, about Voldemort being back and all.""It's good to know someone does."
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Tales of Isabelle Riddle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892113
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	1. Dementor Attack

Fog rolls over the ground, a hazy green light illuminating the ashen grey gravestones. The stench of musty death dances on the light breeze. Bare feet crunch against brittle, dying grass. Blood red eyes slide over hooded figures, lingering on the gaps in their circle. Long, bone-white fingers gingerly curl around the end of a wand, pointing the tip at the nearest figure.

His words come out in cold hisses, "Lucius, my slippery friend. I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face." His eyes narrow to thin slits, now circling around the man. "You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius."

After a few more thinly veiled jabs at Mr. Malfoy's loyalty as of late, he moves on, stopping at a gap in the circle. Proud words are spoken about the couple that should be standing there, those amongst the most loyal, those who were willing to go to Azkaban before renouncing their leader.

Chilled fingers slide over my exposed face, cupping my cheek in the way an inexperienced eye might misconstrue as affection. He stares down at me, the corner of his thin lips twitching, "Ah, you who have suffered greatly for the inadequacies of those who pledge to be loyal. My dearest. I believe the Malfoys have been looking after you as of late."

Nodding, I let my eyes slide past the thin creature in front of me, landing on Lucius, "Yes."

"Perhaps his only redeeming quality. For you will play a more important role in this story than anyone could know."

A bright light rips across the sky.

~~~~~~

"We should go help them," I hiss to the grey-haired woman hovering beside me. Dark, wispy creates dip down, slowly sucking thin tendrils of life from Harry and his bird-brained cousin.

"Not yet, Isabelle. We shouldn't get involved," Mrs. Figg quips back, holding a shaking arm up to prevent me from stepping around the wall.

Letting out a defeated sigh, I continue to watch what looks like imminent death. He's supposed to be able to perform the charm. The whole Order was buzzing about Harry's incredible ability to drive away the Dementors coming for Black. It appears he may have lost his touch.

As I'm about to pull out my own wand, defying orders in an attempt to save the boy, he struggles to his knees. The words slip from his mouth, a spark of silver flying from the end of his wand. The Dementors let out shrieking hisses, drawing away from the two. Harry calls out again, his voice now clear and crisp against the silence that's settled over the street. The vile creatures make one final effort to pierce the magical barrier before giving up, disappearing into the night.

"Come along," Mrs. Figg digs a boney knuckle into my back, ushering me up the tunnel towards Harry and his cousin.

The boy's eyes grow wide as he sees us, trying to shove his wand back into his pocket, "Mrs. Figg?"

"Don't put your wand away, Harry," she gives a nervous look up and down the street, "They might come back."

"Dementors, in a muggle neighborhood!" I let out a scoff, nudging Dudley with the toe of my shoe. His body shifts a little, settling back against the concrete. "I reckon the Ministry knows nothing of it."

Harry blinks back at me; lips flapping open and closed, "Sorry, who are you?"

"I'm Isabelle. I go to Hogwarts, fifth year, just like you. I was in your potions class last year."

"Er – great," Harry responds, the way his eyebrows scrunch together letting me know he doesn't remember. Just as well I suppose.

Mrs. Figg continues to shoot wary glances up the street, jumping at every noise. She casts a glance down at Harry's cousin, frowning slightly, "Come along, best be on our way."

We head up the street, one of Dudley's arms slug around Harry's shoulder, the rest of his beefy body dragging along the ground. The street that is typically cheerily lit by streetlamps even on the darkest of nights seems to have lost its usual charm. An icy wind rips through it, forcing me to wrap the jacket I'm wearing tighter around my shoulders.

"Do you want help?" I question Harry who is now grunting with the effort of lugging Dudley, shooting out a string of questions that Mrs. Figg does her best to deflect.

"No – doing – fine," he pants out; the three of us stopping in front of number four.

Mrs. Figg gives a curt nod, "Now, get inside and stay there. Someone should be in touch soon. Whatever happens, don't leave the house, Harry."

"I'll be seeing you very soon, Harry. Take care," I give him a smile before hurrying across the street.

I watch the Dursley's house through a slit in the curtains. No one told me how long it'd take to get a group together to extract Harry if anything happened. Everyone just knew something was bound to go down. The summer has been too quiet, too uneventful. For a few months, I think a few members of the Order even let themselves be tricked into thinking we were in the clear. One things for sure, no one expected this. Dementors? I suppose this means the Ministry has lost control of them. Surely Fudge won't go so far in his efforts to discredit Dumbledore's claims as to say the Ministry sent them.

I've been waiting for this moment all summer, pacing back and forth in Mrs. Figg's living room, watching the boy through the front windows. Since the first letter arrived, full of muddy instructions, I've been counting down the days. My first task, the first time I've been looked at as more than a cursed last name, as my father's daughter. Dumbledore and his precious Order are beginning to trust me. The old fool and his notions of second chances.

It takes four days for them to get me another letter. It gives a time, insisting I not make any contact before then. My pacing becomes more incessant, the nail of my thumb chewed down to a stub. As the grandfather clock in Mrs. Figg's living room chimes six, I jump from the table, nearly knocking my chair over.

Getting up, I gather my bags, slinging my broomstick over my shoulder, "I'm going!"

"Do be safe, dearie. Dangerous times, these are."

I give Mrs. Figg a quick nod before exiting out onto the street, dashing across it to Harry's house. The door is locked. Pulling out my wand I whisper the unlocking spell, slipping inside. It's quite tidy, everything in its proper spot. There are pictures of a young Dudley with his family, smiling as if they've not got a care in the world. There isn't a single indication that Harry even lives in this house. They've done a right job of smudging him out of their pretend perfect lives. Discarding my things in the front hall, I wander upstairs.

"Harry," I call into the empty hallway, making my way to where light spills onto the carpet under a crack in the door.

"Who's there?"

"Isabelle," I try the knob on the door, finding it locked. "You may want to stand away from the door."

With another utterance of a spell, the door springs open. Harry sits on the sagging mattress of his bed, staring down at his socked feet. He doesn't look up as I sit down next to him, his teeth continuing to work at his bottom lip. I do feel terrible for him; having to live here amongst these muggles who refuse to accept the fact that Harry was born different. That he'll never know what normal is. My own brief stint living amongst Muggles was dismal. I can't imagine doing it year after year.

"What's wrong, Harry Potter?"

He finally looks up, grabbing a sheet of paper from his desk, handing it over, "They've basically expelled me. I don't get to go back to Hogwarts."

"They can't expel you without a hearing, " I explain, offering him a smile. "You'll be fine."

Harry doesn't seem convinced, returning his gaze to his socks, "Right."

"I believe you, about Voldemort being back and all," I announce after a few minutes of awkward silence.

This gets me a genuine smile, Harry's eyes lighting up a little, "It's good to know someone does."

As I go to reply, something downstairs falls, a whisper of curses floating up the steps. Harry stands, drawing his wand as he peeks around the doorframe. Chuckling, I force his hand down, answering the panic in his eyes with a cheery smile, "It's okay. They're here to help."

"Help? Who's here?"

Instead of answering, I drag Harry out into the hallway, coming face to face with a petite woman with brilliant, bubblegum pink hair, "Tonks."

"Hello, Isabelle," Tonks smiles, running her finger along the stair banister. "Very clean these muggles."

I hold back laughter as Moody, a burly man with a glass eye, struggles up the steps, leaning heavily on his cane, "Tonks, for God's sake."

Lupin follows closely behind Moody, cramming into the now very crowded hallway.

Harry stares around, his eyes wide, "I - you're really lucky the Dursleys are out."

"Lucky, ha!" Tonks laughs, giving Harry a warm smile. "It was me that lured them out of the way."

This seems to please Harry very much, the look of awed confusion turning into a broad grin as the news settles over him, "We're leaving, aren't we? Soon?"

"We're just waiting for the all-clear," Lupin explains before going into introductions. He leads us downstairs, pointing out various witches and wizards. They've sent a larger group than I was expecting. Perhaps there's not much to do back at headquarters. Maybe they became nervous after the attack, worried there are more dementors lurking around. "And it looks like you've already met Isabelle."

Harry shoots me a look, scratching at his forehead, "Er - yeah. She was there when I got attacked."

After entertaining a few more questions from Harry, Lupin sends Tonks and him upstairs to pack up his things. Lupin leads me into the living room, away from the others. He places his hands on my shoulders, studying my face. "How many dementors were there?"

"Two."

"And only the cousin, Mrs. Figg, and you were present?"

"From what I saw. The whole street went pretty dark, not sure any Muggles around would've even known what was going on. Didn't Mundungus already tell you this?"

Lupin frowns, "I'll tell you more later." 

When Harry and Tonks return, Harry's trunk floating along behind Tonks, we push out into the Dursley's back garden. I get sandwiched in between Tonks and Mad-Eye.

"Wait, I don't understand," Harry protests, peeking around Tonks to look at Moody. "Where are we going?"

Tonks gives him a toothy smile, "Don't worry, Harry, we'll explain everything once we get back to headquarters."

"Shh," Moody grumbles, shooting Tonks an evil sideways glance, his magical eye swiveling off, "Not here, Nymphadora."

"Don't call me Nymphadora," Tonks answers through gritted teeth, her hair going from pink to flaming red and back.

Choosing to ignore the outburst, Moody addresses the group, "Stay in formation everyone. Don't break ranks if any of us are killed. Isabelle, you'll stay in the center with Harry. On the off chance you two are the only ones that make it, you know how to get in the house?"

"Yes, I remember," I answer back with a nod. "Any more charming words of confidence before we leave, Mad-Eye?"

I'm greeted with a harsh frown, Mad-Eye in no mood for my jokes tonight. I can't say I blame him. This isn't necessarily the safest mission we've been sent on though I've not gotten any wind of plans to disrupt us. None of them would dare try anything before Potters gotten his hands on the thing we need.

"Let's go."

Everyone pushes off the sidewalk hard, leaving Number Four Privet Drive behind. Typically, I enjoy flying. The wind whipping through my hair unnaturally invigorating, the freedom that comes with knowing you can mount a broom and go anywhere you please. Tonight is different. The weightless joy never settles in. This is a means to get from point A to point B with no real guarantee all of us will reach the end.

As I mostly expected, it's an uneventful journey, all of us landing about two hours later, touching down on an apartment-lined street. The walks are lined with overflowing rubbish bins. What little vegetation is able to push its way through the cracks in the sidewalk is brown and wilting. Ivy creeps over the crumbling brick walls of the buildings, completely covering some of the lowest windows. This is not a street where parents let their children play in the street or people choose to stroll down for an after-dinner walk. The residence spend more time disappearing into the worlds within their television screens than the going ons of those below; the perfect place to hide in plain view.

"Here we are," I whisper to Harry as two apartments begin to spread apart, revealing a third hidden between them.

Harry watches this happen, his eyes wide, darting to see if the muggles visible through the windows seem to notice their living room walls are closing in on them, "You've been here before?"

"Only once, a little over a year ago," I answer back as Moody opens the front door, ushering us all inside. "I'm not often invited."

A cheery looking redheaded woman comes through the door at the end of the hall, shutting it quickly behind her. In the split second I'm able to see into the room beyond, deep black eyes meet mine. I can't help the smile that slides across my face. He's here. I will soon get my answer.


	2. Headquarters

"Harry," the plump redheaded woman exclaims, bustling up the hall to pull Harry into a bone-crushing hug. She turns to me, her eyes alight with a cheery smile, "And you must be Isabelle."

"Yes ma'am."

My eyes dance over the area laid out before us. The house is just as dreary as I remember it. What would have once been the lavishly decorated and well-maintained home of one of the most well-known, pure-blood wizarding families of the last century, has now fallen into almost irrepair after years of neglect by its current owner. A thick layer of dust coats the dark wood, wallpaper yellowed and peeling away from water-worn plaster. Pictures line the stairwell, their colors muddied by time and neglect. Overhead, the floorboards creak under footfalls, wood dust falling down, and coating our heads and shoulders. The dim candle lighting casts long shadows over the carpeting, worn all the way through in some places.

I let myself be ushered upstairs, the woman babbling on, "No time to explain, straight upstairs. First door to the left." She stops as we reach the first landing, eyes once again dancing in my direction. "Oh, Isabelle, Severus would like a word after the meeting."

"Of course," I answer coldly before striding up the hall to catch up with Harry.

He turns to me once the woman has disappeared back downstairs, "Why does Snape want a word? Classes don't start for another month."

"Haven't the slightest," I give him a nonchalant shrug, curling my fingers around the tarnished silver of the doorknob. "Shall we?"

Harry is instantly wrapped into a hug by a girl with frizzy brown hair. She talks quickly, going on about how the Ministry can't possibly expel him and how they must give him a hearing. I remember her; the insufferable know it all, Hermione Granger. Behind her, a tall, lanky, redheaded boy mumbles about giving Harry a minute to breathe. Ron Weasley. I suspect the rest of his family is lurking around the house.

Once Harry is released, he staggers backward, pressing his back up against the peeling wallpaper, "What is this place?"

"It's Headquarters," Ron mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate, unable to explain much more before Hermione cuts in, wearing a rather matter of fact expression.

"Of the Order of the Phoenix. It's a secret society. Dumbledore found it back when they first fought You – Know – Who."

"You mean Voldemort," Harry and I say at the same time, the boy flashing me a half-smile while the other two cringe at the use of his name. They way they act you'd think the mere mention of the wizard's name would have him popping up in the room.

Harry's smile fades quickly as he eyes his friends, "You couldn't have put any of this in a letter, I suppose? I've gone all summer without a scrap of news. The only person I was able to talk to was Isabelle and I've only met her a few days ago."

"We really wanted to write," Ron offers back, his eyes downcast, the toe of his socked foot pushing back and forth against a particularly worn spot on the hardwoods. "Really we did – "

"Only what?" Harry challenges, anger slinking its way into his words.

Hermione offers a weak smile, staring through Harry to the wall behind him, "Only Dumbledore made us swear not to tell you anything."

"Dumbledore said that? But why would he want to keep me in the dark? Maybe I could help. After all, I am the one who saw Voldemort return. I'm the one who fought him. I'm the one who saw Cedric Diggory get killed," Harry snarls back, his voice rising with each word.

A sudden pop halts any further argument. Two redheaded boys, both just a bit shorter than Ron with a spattering of freckles over their noses and cheeks appear in the middle of the room. They grin, bumping each other's shoulders, snickering at the slightly stunned look Harry and Hermione wear. They speak in unison, "Hello, Harry."

The one on the left tips forward on his toes, eyes narrowing as they land on me, "I know you."

"Yeah," the other jumps in, "you bewitched our mead at the Yule Ball. Took us days to figure out how to unglue our jaws."

"I see it didn't have the intended effect of teaching you to talk less," I snip back. "Perhaps I'll have to give it another go."

The twins let out hoots of laughter, shoving at each other, "We just wanna know how you did it. It'd make a wicked joke sweet. What're you doing here anyway? You aren't part of the Order are you?"

"What's it to you?" I've not really got anything against Fred and George; in fact, I think they're quite hilarious. They just seem to have an unnatural knack of putting their noses in business that isn't theirs.

Sensing they aren't going to get anything out of me, the twins turn to address the others in the room, a mischievous glint coming into their eyes, "Look, we can stay up here and chat or we could go listen to something a little more interesting."

"I'll go," I answer quickly, receiving approving smiles from the twins who begin ushering us all out of the room.

Hermione stares on in quiet disapproval as Fred and George lower a tiny ear on the string over the banister toward the closed door. For a few seconds, there is nothing but static, Sirius' voice slowly coming into crisp focus. He seems to be arguing with the others about Harry joining the Order. His main arguments seem to involve Potter already facing Voldemort and me practically being in the Order. The others gawk at this, insisting Harry is too young and that I should have never been brought into something like this.

"Wait, you're part of the Order?" Harry whispers just low enough for me to hear.

"Honorary member. Allowed to risk my life on missions such as the one earlier tonight but barred from meetings. Bit stupid if you ask me. Naturally, Mrs. Weasley's been up in arms about it since she found out, worried I'll go giving you ideas."

"Crookshanks," Hermione hisses down at a cat that's begun to bat at the ear suspended a few inches from the ground, forgetting her disdain for our activity now that we're hearing real information. "Stop it."

The cat ignores her, trapping the other end of the earpiece under its paw, harsh static coming back up at us. So much for hearing anything interesting. The others grumble about Hermione's cat as she continues to hiss reprimands down at it over the banister. We should've invited ourselves in. It's not like they could have possibly forced all of us out, especially not with Sirius on a rampage. Secretly, I think some members of the Order are still worried he's been unhinged by his time in Azkaban.

As the door below opens, we all jump back from the stair railing, trying to act as if we haven't been listening. The same plump woman bustles out into the hall. She glances up at us, her smile quickly sliding into a tight frown as she sees us all staring back at her. "Come along children, we'll be eating down in the kitchen."

We all traipse down the steps, Fred and George opting to apparate, disappearing from the landing and reappearing before the woman I assume is their mother. They snicker as she shakes her head disapprovingly. "Just because you're allowed to use magic does not mean you have to whip out your wands for everything."

As I go to follow the others into the kitchen, an arm, shielded by thick black robes, blocks my path. Looking up, I meet the rather severe-looking face of Severus Snape. Amongst my favorite professors at Hogwarts, Snape teaches potions. His classes are full of witty quips at Potter and adoring smiles sent in my direction. He's amongst those I consider father figures, those who have guided me along my path in the wizarding world.

"A word," he slides out, glancing over his shoulder to assure we're alone.

I give him a nod, allowing Severus to lead me back up the hallway, the two of us sliding into a broom closet just off the entrance to the house. Once the door is tightly shut behind us, a set of beady black eyes land on me, scanning over my face. "I suppose you'd like your answer now."

"And here I thought you just wanted to ask me how my summer was, Severus," I answer back with a playful wink.

Snape's expression remains the same, icy and emotionless, "Your father has decided you will make a valuable asset to his ranks." Outside the door a stair creaks, "The rest will be communicated through Lucius over Christmas break. It is not safe to talk further here."

I do nothing to hide the smile sliding over my face, pleased at the news. Going into my fifth year, I'll be among the youngest in his ranks. A valuable asset; the sentiment sends my heart flying, butterflies taking off in my stomach. All these years of waiting and wondering if I'd ever get to meet him, and now I'll walk beside him at my rightful place. A weapon no one will ever expect.

"I suspect nosey Potter and his friends will want to know why I've pulled you aside. I trust you have a reasonable explanation?"

Clapping a hand on Snape's shoulder, I push the broom closet door open, "You worry too much, Severus. I can handle Potter and prying questions."

"Do not forget your part to play in this, Isabelle. You don't want them losing trust in you before you've even gained it. Miss Granger is quite a bit more observant than I'm comfortable with."

I spin on my heel, giving the wizard a stony glare, "Remember your place, Severus, and I will remember mine." With that, I spin back around, disappearing through the door at the end of the hall.

A wall of voices hits me, everyone in the kitchen talking at once, their conversations getting lost in the babble. The smell of rich food wafts through the room, my stomach grumbling, reminding me just how hungry I am.

Sirius catches my eye, opening his arms, offering a toothy smile, "Isabelle, it has been too long." He envelops me in a hug as I grow nearer, his beard tickling my cheek, "I trust you had a good summer."

"Uneventful."

"I trust that boy of yours is still treating you well," Sirius answers with a wink.

Trying to hide the blush rising to my cheeks, I scratch at the skin there, "Yes. Wrote me nearly every day."

"You know Sirius," his voice cuts through the noise, the boy eyeing us warily as Sirius and I take a seat at the table, beginning to fill our plates.

The smile lines crease around Sirius's eyes, a twinkle rising to them, "Of course. Smart witch, this one, figured out I wasn't quite the dog I appeared to be. Did a right job of getting food to me in my earlier days in Hogsmeade last year. Saved me from continuing to have to rely on rats until your owls started showing up, Harry."

"Normal dogs don't go digging through rubbish bins for the Daily Prophet."

"I suppose I wasn't being as careful as I should," Sirius admits. "Revealed myself to her after a couple visits. She took it well, all things considered." He gives me a wink, chuckling lightly at his own private joke.

As Harry goes to ask more questions, Fred and George appear on either side of him, elbows resting on the table, two sets of eyes now trained on me, "You still dating ferret boy, Isabelle?"

"Wait," Harry chokes on his drink, beating at his chest as water rises in his eyes, "You're dating Malfoy?"

Not exactly how I wanted this to come out, but I suppose it's best to deal with it early on. If I'm meant to be befriending Potter and his friends I might as well clear the air on the subject now. No use having it come out later on and losing whatever foundation I've established.

"Yes. He's not nearly as big a git as you see – " I shoot a look at Fred and George "– if you two keep sharing all my secrets, I may just have to turn you into ferrets."

The twins snicker at this threat, "Any nasty side effects, hair where it shouldn't be, extra twitchy disposition."

"Say one more word," I challenge, rising a little from my seat, fingers curling around the handle of my wand. "I dare you."

This gets a round of hoots, Fred and George tipping back on the bench, fists beating against the tabletop, "Surprised he's been using his father to hide behind when he's got you around. Gonna glue our mouths shut again? Ooh, maybe you'll make us eat slugs or sprout ears."

"Oh leave her alone, you two," the youngest Weasley, Ginny, snaps, thumping her older brothers on the back of their heads. "I'm sure she knows Draco better than you two."

Ignoring whatever lewd comment the twins share, I turn my attention to Harry who now has his nose buried in a copy of the Daily Prophet. His eyes are flying over the page, the vein running through his forehead pulsing faster with each word.

"He's been attacking Dumbledore as well," Lupin states, scanning the page over Harry's shoulder.

"He's using all his power including his influence on the Daily Prophet to smear anyone that claims the Dark Lord has returned," Sirius continues, frowning down at the paper.

"But that's insane," Harry slaps the Prophet down on the table, almost knocking over his goblet with the force. "No one in their right mind would believe that Dumbledore – " His face screws up in rage, the rest of his sentence lost in the emotion.

Lupin gives Harry a knowing smile, tapping his temple, "Exactly the point. Fudge isn't in his right mind. It's been twisted and warped by fear."

"Fudge has always been a cowardly man," I butt into the conversation, snatching up the paper to read over the latest headline. "He refuses to see what's right in front of his very nose"

I get an approving smile from Lupin, "Now, fear makes people do terrible things, Harry. Last time Voldemort gained power he almost destroyed everything we hold most dear. Now in these times, the Minister will do almost everything to keep from facing the terrifying truth."

"We think Voldemort wants to build up his army," Sirius continues when Lupin pauses to take a drink. "Fourteen years ago he had huge numbers at his command. Not just witches and wizards, either, but all matter of dark creatures. He's been recruiting heavily and we've been attempting to do the same. Now gathering followers isn't all we think Voldemort is interested in. We believe he might be after something, something he didn't have last time."

They couldn't possibly know. I know Snape's role in all of this, but he wouldn't possibly share that with them. The whole plan relies on the element of surprise, of no one truly knowing until it's too late to do anything about it. Surely Severus would be clever enough, even if pressed, to stick to the plan. I glance nervously over at Harry who seems deep in thought, mulling these words over as he chews.

"You mean like a weapon?"

"No!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims, chair legs squealing as she pushes back from the table, rising to her feet. One hand is raised in a clenched fist, the other gripping her apron so tightly her knuckles turn white. "Enough! He's just a boy. It's bad enough you dragged that poor girl into this mess. You say much more and you might as well induct him into the Order as well."

"Good. I want to join," Harry answers, his jaw clenched, that familiar look of determination settling in his green eyes. "If Voldemort is raising an army then I want to fight."

I stare Mrs. Weasley down, silently thanking her for giving my first foot in the door, "If Harry wants to join I say let him. He's been there, come out the better man on all occasions."

"No more!" Mrs. Weasley bellows, her face now as red as her hair. "Children, up to bed. You too, Fred and George."

Everyone stands, beginning to bustle out of the kitchen, the sound of feet trudging up the steps echoing through the house. I continue to stand in the kitchen, waiting for Mrs. Weasley to collect herself. Once she's retaken her seat, I clear my throat. "Not be a hassle, but where am I meant to sleep?"

"Oh yes," Mrs. Weasley forces a polite smile, "Third floor, second door on the right. Hermione and Ginny should already be up there. Just give a shout if you need anything else."


	3. The Hearing

The adults stick the children and Sirius with continuing the cleaning efforts. Sirius seems as displeased with this task as I am. He skulks around, shooting spells at various pieces of furniture and on more than one occasion lighting curtains on fire. After a few choice words with Mr. Weasley and Lupin, he now spends most of his time shut up in the top bedroom with Buckbeak, the hippogriff he was able to escape Hogwarts on. When I'm not up there with him, I take pleasure in setting particularly nasty creatures on Fred and George. They seem to get as much of a kick out of it as me, often sending their own menaces my way.

Grimmauld Place is remarkably different from where I usually spend my summers. There's a cheeriness here that is stifled at the Malfoy Manor. I do quite miss the trips through the garden and picnics by the lake though. Draco and I tend to spend our time away from his parents, playing games of wizard chess by the firelight in his sitting room or curled together on the soft leather sofa, one reading quietly to the other. Lucius and Narcissa hardly seem to mind, inviting us down to lavish dinners and the occasional game of two on two quidditch. There have even been times I've seen Lucius genuinely smile, but those are few and far between, and only if Draco and I can manage to catch him off guard.

Being shut inside all day is beginning to grate on my nerves, taking my already sharp tongue and explosive temper to a new level. The occupants of number twelve have quickly learned to give me a wide berth after particularly long days of cleaning. On those occasions, it's typically suggested I bring Sirius food or keep him company, as he seems to be the only one able and willing to row with me until I've grown exhausted.

As August the 12th, the date of Harry's hearing at the Ministry, grows closer, the environment within the house becomes nearly unbearable, nerves palpable in the stale air. Mrs. Weasley has done her best to split us all up, not wanting gossip to circulate. Today I've been paired up with Sirius, the two of us meant to clear out a rather nasty infestation of doxies in a third-floor bedroom.

"Were you able to see Draco at all over break?" Sirius questions as we break for sandwiches. He isn't particularly fond of the idea of me fraternizing with the likes of the Malfoy's but knows better than to share his opinion too often.

Grimacing at a rather moldy looking piece of bread, I shove the lunch plate away from me, "No. Been too busy listening to the squib babble on about all the dangers that lurk out her door."

"It was for a good cause," Sirius answers back absentmindedly. His faith in the cause has been dwindling with every passing day that he's tasked with the cleanup effort instead of actual Order business.

Scoffing, I lean against a mirrored armoire we cleared of mold earlier today, "Good cause? The Order is in shambles, everyone scrambling around, trying to figure out what the hell Dumbledore wants them to be doing. I've had Order members whispering in my ears before I even knew what a wand was, everyone terrified that if they left me alone for even a second I'd turn into him. Even now, I see the way they look at me; nervous side glances, their voices dropping to whispers when I walk by. Can I tell you something, something just between us?"

"Not sure anyone would listen even if I wanted to tell."

"I'm beginning to wonder if this is the right way."

One of Sirius' bushy eyebrows arches, his eyes now settling on me with a sincere look of interest, "I suppose you think you've got a better idea."

"I'm just not sure inaction and secrecy is the best way. Harry's got his hearing in less than a week and everyone's acting like if they don't mention it it'll just go away. The boy needs to know what's going on, to be prepared. Fudge is waging a war against him and he's busy cleaning curtains."

Sirius gives me a knowing look, "It will fall on deaf ears. Believe me, I have made the same arguments you are making now."

"Is Dumbledore still set on ignoring him?"

"Dumbledore is doing what he thinks is best."

"He's foolish."

At this Sirius gets to his feet, towering above me, his shadow looming, words coming at me in a gruff growl, "Dumbledore is one of the greatest wizards of our time."

"Are you done?" I collect the lunch plates, not waiting for Sirius to answer. "I'm going to bring the scraps up to Buckbeak."

"Don't let your pride put you on the wrong side of history!" Sirius bellows after me, his voice echoing up the hallway. Shrieking can be heard as I mount the steps to the highest bedroom.

~~~~~

"Isabelle," his voice floats through a dream. "Isabelle."

Flying up in bed, I stare out at a blurry figure, shadowed by the thin line of light coming in from the hallway. With a yawn, I rub the sleep from my eyes, finally able to get the shadowed figure to come into clear focus. Harry blinks back at me, wearing a rather hopeful smile. Shooting a glance towards the window I can see the hazy gray light of night still trying to cling to the sky.

Getting up, I slip into the hallway, careful to close the door softly behind me, "What can I do you for, Harry? Bit early for breakfast isn't it?"

"I've got my hear – "

"Shit." Turning, I yank the bedroom door back open, going straight to the trunk that's sitting at the end of my bed. Shoving a few books and spare quills aside, I pull out a length of parchment, ripping my notes from the top of it. Shutting the trunk lid quietly, I slip back into the hall.

Harry stares at me, his eyes wide as I shove the bit of parchment into his hand, "This should help. Bunch of laws and their exceptions. Sirius and I put it together. The laws on your side if they choose to stick to it, one only knows with Fudge though."

"Er – thanks," Harry unfolds the parchment, scratching at the back of his neck as he looks it over. "Why are you doing this? Helping me?"

"Well, I do believe Draco would have quite the boring year without you there to exchange insults with," I answer with a sly smile, shooting Harry a playful wink. "Did you need anything else?"

His lips flap, eyes focused on something behind me, "I – Well I was going to see if you wanted to tag along. You were the first person I told, so I, er – thought..."

"Uh – " I let out a rather long yawn, my eyes squinting shut. As I blink away the water that risen to them, the front door shuts. Harry and I peek over the banister in time to see Severus slip inside. His dark beady eyes slide over Harry and me. The expression in them tells me everything I need to know, "I'm not sure that would be such a good idea. You'll be fine though. I'll see you later."

Harry gives me a dismal smile before heading downstairs. I spend the rest of the early morning hours staring up at the ceiling, light working its way over the rich black ceiling. The gentle sounds of Hermione and Ginny continuing to sleep do nothing to help lull me back into my own world of dreams.

My thoughts wander to Draco and the upcoming school year. A few of his letters earlier in the summer mentioned some big change coming to Hogwarts though he admitted his father caught him lurking in the hallway and he wasn't able to find out exactly what that change will be. We speculated that Dumbledore might be getting the boot but both finally agreed Fudge wouldn't go that far quite yet. Draco described his summer as being exceptionally dismal. The Malfoy's Manor, now being used as a sort of headquarters for Death Eater meetings, means Draco's been mostly sequestered to his quarters. I wish I were able to write to him still. The Order thinks it's too risky to send to many letters, cutting off our only means of communication.

Growing bored of laying amongst the rather scratchy blankets, I get dressed, wandering down to the kitchen. The other occupants of Grimmauld place slowly trickle in, offering sleeping good mornings.

"Harry already off to his hearing?" questions Hermione over the top of the Daily Prophet.

Mrs. Weasley continues to bustle around the kitchen, occasionally dropping more plates of toast or bowls of porridge on the table, "Nearly an hour ago. Arthur wanted to be there early."

As she turns back to the stove, an owl zooms in through the open window, dropping a letter into the middle of the table before taking flight again. A hush falls over the kitchen, no one daring to even lift their cups from the table. All eyes are now trained on the letter. Sensing no one else is going to do it, I flip the letter over; revealing who it's addressed to. The name sits in prominent black ink; Harry Potter.

"Should I open it?"

"That's quite alright," Mrs. Weasley seems to come out of the trance the arrival of the letter put her in. "I'll just take it."

She disappears into the corner, ripping the envelope open. Her eyes scan the letter, lips tugging into a frown. She mutters quietly, flipping the page over, "Moved? The whole Wizengamot? I do hope Arthur has been informed."

"Molly," Lupin starts, noticing that all eyes are now trained on Mrs. Weasley, no one even bothering to pretend to be eating. "Perhaps we should discuss this upstairs?"

"Oh," she looks up from the letter, smiling sheepishly at everyone gathered around the table. "Oh, yes. Upstairs. Of course, Remus."

The members of the Order stand, filing out of the kitchen leaving Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, and myself alone. We wait until their footsteps retreat up the hallway before turning to each other, everyone talking at once. "The whole Wizengamot? There really isn't a need for that. Didn't he just use a Patronus? Saved his cousin's life, he did. This'll never stand. Dumbledore'll be furious."

"We shouldn't speculate," Hermione's voice cuts through the chatter. "We won't know anything until he gets home."

This seeming to settle the matter, everyone goes back to eating, the kitchen filled only with the sounds of cutlery on china.


	4. Isabelle's Talent

"I knew it!" yells Ron, punching the air. "You always get away with stuff!"

Harry, who arrived in the kitchen moments earlier to announce the Wizengamot cleared him of all charges, smiles cheerily over at Ron. He receives more words of congratulations and confidence as he slips through the kitchen, falling into the chair next to mine. I try and drown out the cheer that's gone up, listening to Mr. Weasley talking to Sirius. He whispers something about Lucius being at the Ministry, but I lose the last bit in another rambunctious round of he got off started up this time by Ginny and Fred.

"Dumbledore used that exception to the law you gave me, the one about using magic to save lives," Harry whispers, leaning in closer to me to be heard over the chatter and continued chants of he got off.

"Dumbledore showed up?" I ask incredulously. Typically matters of underage magic use are handled rather quietly and quickly. Almost no one gets into actual trouble unless they've used a particularly nasty curse. The Ministry isn't really in the habit of expelling young witches and wizards.

Harry nods, "Stayed just long enough to get me off and then left. The hearing was in front of Fudge himself."

"We heard. An owl came."

"Hey," Harry's fingers curl around my wrist, preventing me from following the others who are now being ushered out of the kitchen by Mrs. Weasley. "I know you're close with Malfoy, would you mind not telling him about this? I don't want him to have more to throw at me than usual."

Standing, I brush Harry's hand away from me, "I'm sure it will come as a great shock to you, but Draco and I have more to talk about than you."

"I didn't – " Harry's eyebrows screw together, blinking up at me. "I just – "

"Just don't, okay?" Rolling my eyes, I motion for Harry to follow me. "I think they want us upstairs."

~~~~

"And then he had the audacity of asking me not to tell Draco as if they only thing we've got to talk about is him," I complain to Sirius later that night over cups of coffee.

Sirius leans back against Buckbeak, staring out the window in his mother's old room, "Well, from what I've heard their relationship consists of throwing nasty insults back and forth. Can you blame him for not wanting to give Draco more ammunition to use against him?"

"It's all in good fun."

"That's not what I've heard. Harry says Malfoy can be quite cruel."

Knowing this conversation isn't going to go anywhere other than Sirius and I getting into another argument about my dating a Malfoy, I let out a huff, "Still, to assume I'd go running to Draco – I think that's a bit presumptuous. I haven't even talked about him."

"You miss him," Sirius remarks, tucking a finger under my chin, his thumb running over my cheek. "You have always been fiercely protective of the boy, though I am not certain he always needs it."

Curling into Buckbeak's side, I run my fingers through his feathers, "You haven't been there. Lucius is vile, constantly putting him down, feeding him all sorts of nonsense. Narcissa tries, she loves him, but I think she's terrified of her husband. He needs someone who cares. If he lashes out it's only because that's what he's been taught. I'm trying to help him."

"And if you can't? If that help leads you into a dangerous position?"

Picking up one of Buckbeak's feathers that litter the ground, I twirl it between my fingers, "No one is beyond help, Sirius."

I spend much of the next week holed up in the late Mrs. Black's bedroom with Sirius. We shoot random spells at the paintings on the walls, levitating Buckbeak's shed feathers. Sirius teaches me how to make things disappear, cheering me on, when on day three of this, I'm able to rid the room of a particularly ugly suit of armor.

"Can I show you something? I picked it up a few years ago, but pretty much mastered it at Mrs. Figg's over the summer."

Sirius nods eagerly. Having the ability to do magic again, Sirius seems to be in higher spirits than I've seen him all summer. Grinning, I let my eyes slide shut, picturing the flickering flames in my mind. Breathing evenly, I lift my hand from the floor, feeling it begin to quiver. Peeling my eyes open, I smirk at the flames now licking at the ends of my fingers. They flicker in Sirius's eyes that are now wide with shock.

Holding the smirk, I curl my fingers into my palm, extinguishing the flames, "I've been working on getting objects to come to me without using my wand, but they seem to lose interest about halfway through. I can levitate them though."

"Does anyone else know about this?" Where I expected to see a bright smile sits a thin frown. Sirius eyes me with a look of caution, his gaze flicking towards the shut door.

"Just Draco," I answer back, trying to hide my disappointment in Sirius' reaction. "We're both trying it. He's only managed a few sparks though."

Sirius takes my hands in his, squeezing them a touch tighter than he needs to, a severely serious look on his face now, "Isabelle, and I tell you this because I care deeply about you, do not go sharing what you can do with just anyone. It takes a very powerful witch or wizard to do magic without a wand; to control the effects. It may make the others –" he shoots another wary glance at the door "– nervous."

"I don't mean anything by it. I didn't know it wasn't common. I saw Dumbledore do it at the Quidditch game, the one where Harry fell off his broom. I just thought it was a neat trick."

"I know you didn't. He could do this kind of magic. Couple that with your other er – unique ability and well – " he forces a smile, which quickly falters "– just maybe keep it to yourself."

Heaving a sigh, I nod, "Yeah. Okay."

Just once I wish my abilities weren't shrouded by the shadow of who I am. Just once I wish I could do something and have the awe I'm looking for.

On the last day before term starts, Hermione pokes her head into the room we've been sharing with Ginny, a stack of letters held in her hand, "Booklists."

"Thanks," I abandon my half-packed trunk, taking the letter Hermione holds out to me.

"Mrs. Weasley said that if we give them to her she'll go and get everything we need."

"Yeah. Okay."

I've always enjoyed the trips to Diagon Alley. Narcissa always indulges Draco and me, letting us go through various shops, buying anything and everything we want. She took me to get my gown for the Yule Ball last year, gloating about it to anyone who would listen. She enjoys having a girl to dote over. The sad, homesick feeling I've been shaking off for the past few weeks takes hold again.

Hermione lingers in the doorway, tipping from her heels to her toes and back as she watches me, "Can I tell you something?"

"If you need to."

"You're nicer than I expected, considering – "

I cut her off, "Considering I'm in Slytherin? Considering I'm dating Draco Malfoy?"

"I was trying to give you a compliment," Hermione bristles.

"A compliment would have been your hair looks nice or I like your necklace. Perhaps even you're nicer than I expected, period. Compliments don't typically have a considering attached, but thanks anyway."

"Sirius said you had a temper."

"Yeah well, it's not any worse than Harry's."

At this Hermione actually cracks a smile, "No, I suppose it isn't. I meant it, you're all right, Isabelle, no considering. Harry told me what you did for him, for the hearing."

"Yeah well, I wasn't going to let Fudge have his cake and eat it too."

Apparently, Ron and Hermione made Prefect. Mrs. Weasley throws a party, the kitchen full of cheerful banter and the smell of apple tarts. I hang towards the back of the festivities, floating a few spare apple peels off the floor, the buzz of excitement not able to permeate my homesickness. I wonder if Draco received a shiny Prefect's badge and who the Slytherin girl's prefect will be. I'm not surprised I didn't receive a badge. Dumbledore would never give me a position like that. He's perfectly happy with me being just another face in the crowd, not drawing any unnecessary attention.

A handful of Draco's letters expressed nervousness about becoming a Prefect. Lucius practically demands it. I can only imagine the mood Draco will be in if he's been passed over. I consider risking sending a letter but decide I probably won't receive a reply before we've left for the station tomorrow morning.

"Have you seen my new broom?" Ron questions, cutting through my line of thoughts.

"Oh yeah. Very cool, Ron," I mumble back, continuing to watch the apple peels dancing around by the arm of my chair.

He offers me a lopsided grin, "Can you change the color, of the peels?"

"What color would you like? Red?" The peels once green are now a vibrant, bloody red. "Purple perhaps?" The peels change again. I grin back up at Ron's open-mouthed stare. "The summer at Mrs. Figg's was pretty boring."

"I don't even know if Hermione can do that."

"I'm sure she can."

Ron shakes his head, "No, not the color changing. You're not using a wand."

The peels fall to the floor.


	5. Coming Home

Almost as soon as I’m through the barrier onto platform 9 ¾ I break away from the group. Pushing my way through a throng of other students, I board the train at the first opportunity I get. The compartments are already filling up, students happily chatting away with friends they haven’t seen since last term. I head towards the Prefect's carriage, hoping Draco will be there.

Hands slide over my eyes, warm breath sliding over my ear. “Looking for someone?”

“Draco!” I let out, spinning around and wrapping my arms around the boy’s neck, my lips finding his. His arms slink around my back, holding me to him, something hard pressing into my collarbone.

“Missed me that much?” He grins, his fingers sliding between mine as he lets me go.

“They had me de-molding cupboards,” I answer with a shudder, trying to push the memory from my mind, as my eyes land on a shiny badge pinned to Draco’s suit jacket. “You made Prefect. Oh, I’m so proud of you! I bet your father was thrilled.”

Draco leads us further up the train, pushing a few second years out of his way to get to the Prefect's compartment, “If he was he had an odd way of showing it.”

As I go to lift my baggage onto the rack, Draco takes it from me, gesturing to the seat below. Once our luggage is secured, he throws himself into the corner of the compartment, once again wrapping his arms around me, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. Was Helix okay?”

“Father said you’d be joining us for Christmas. I was thinking we’d visit Paris this year.” Draco motions to the basket on the floor. Two glowing green eyes stare out at me, "She's been alright, once I got her to stop biting at me. She missed her mum." 

“She is a bit of a brat. Paris sounds nice,” I answer as the compartment door slides open, Pansy prancing inside. She gives Draco and me a disapproving look before sitting in the opposite corner.

As the compartment continues to fill up, two Prefects from each house, Draco traces over the little moon I had tattooed on the inside of my wrist last summer. It changes with the moon phases, sitting currently at a small sliver. He finds it fascinating though opted out of getting his own after hearing his father’s disapproving words about mine. While I consider the Malfoys with high regard, I hardly care what Lucius does and doesn’t approve of.

The glass doors slide open again, Draco giving a curt laugh as Ron and Hermione slide inside, “Surely they didn’t make you a Prefect, Weasley.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Ron shoots back, giving Draco a stony stare.

These words seem to have no effect on Draco, his eyes now settling on Hermione, “And you?” His lip curls up into a sneer, staring at the badge pinned to her robes as if hoping he’ll be able to make it disappear. “The school really is going down the drain.”

“At least it isn’t Potter,” I whisper just loud enough for Draco to hear.

He chuckles back, his eyes glistening as they land on me, “Perfect Potter. Bet Dumbledore thought all the notoriety would finally cause his head to explode."

“You fowl git.”

As Ron moves to have a go at Draco, Hermione steps in front of him, her palms pressing into his chest whispering something about Malfoy not being worth it. She shoots a look over her shoulder as if I’m supposed to do something about Draco. In an attempt to ignore her, I pretend to find the floor suddenly interesting. There was nothing in my instructions about getting cozy with Ron and Hermione.

I sit quietly, twisting Draco’s ring around his finger as the Prefects receive their instructions. Draco looks bored with the whole thing, his head resting lazily against the window, trying to stifle yawns. Once the professor giving the information leaves, Ron and Hermione slide back out of the compartment, followed closely by the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Prefects. This once again leaves only Draco, Pansy, and myself.

“Have a good summer, Draco?” Pansy inquires, fluttering her lashes at him.

Draco, now stretched out across the bench, his head in my lap, talks at the ceiling, tossing an apple between his hands, “I’m not going to ask you how your summer was Pansy so you can go ahead and give up. Why don’t you go do rounds? Kick a few first years around for me.”

“I don’t have to take orders from you,” Pansy sneers back.

Kicking my feet out onto the bench across the way, I lean forward a little bit, “Go, Parkinson, before I have to make you.”

“You can’t boss me around, Isabelle,” despite her words, the dark-haired girl stands, slipping out into the hallway leaving Draco and me alone. “She a cow,” I grumble, leaning back.

“She’s terrified of you,” Draco answers lazily. “I can’t believe they made you de-mold. That’s a house elf’s job. Ridiculous. It’s bad enough they’ve asked you to befriend Potter. He hasn’t touched you, has he?” A hand comes up, cupping my cheek. Draco’s eyes search my face as if he’s going to see an angry red handprint there.

Turning my head to the side, I nip at Draco’s fingertips, able to press a kiss to his pinkie, “No he hasn’t touched me. Were you able to figure out what change is coming to Hogwarts?”

“Oh yeah, “Draco gets up, rummaging around in his trunk for a few seconds before producing a letter which he quickly hands over to me. “Nicked it from the rubbish bin before the help was able to clear it out. Looks like the Ministry is sending one of its own to keep an eye on things. Doesn’t say who though and father’s been in a state with everyone coming and going. Mother didn’t know any more than the letter said. Bell, is he really back?”

I nod, “Yeah, Draco. He’s really back.”

“Things are going to change, aren’t they?”

Biting into my lower lip, I try to get it to stop trembling before I answer, “Not for us. I won’t let it.”

Stepping into the Slytherin common room feels like coming home. Here we can be ourselves. I can change out the dark silk robes for short, high-waisted, fitted skirts and knitted sweaters, for flowing chiffon dresses and rich leather jackets, for Draco’s pajama pants and worn-in sweatshirts. At times even he relaxes, trading in the suits for more comfortable cashmere and corduroys. Inside the walls of the common room, there is no one to impress. Draco and I smile and laugh freely, unafraid of reprimanding words and judgmental stares. I like Draco most like this when he’s free of the watchful eye of his father.

“So the Umbridge woman seems to be a character,” Draco says later over a game of wizard chess. The common room has cleared out, only a few first years lingering behind to watch the darkened waters of the lake through the domed, glass ceiling.

My bishop takes Draco’s knight, “Her fashion choices should be a crime.”

“Father’s worked with her before. He’s only had good things to say. Apparently she’s quite the go-getter. I’m sure she’ll be willing to put the school back together.”

Draco’s queen takes out my bishop, forcing me to switch tactics. We’ve played this game together for so many years now that we can practically guess the other’s moves. Most of our games now end in a draw, “She’s here to shut Dumbledore up about Voldemort being back.”

“Well that’s good, right? If he drops it he can start making moves instead of hiding in the shadows,” Draco’s eyes grow wide, his hand coming to cover his mouth. “Not that I think he’s hiding or anything. I sure he’s – ”

Chuckling, I send my knight after Draco’s remaining bishop, “I’m not going to tattle, Draco. You can say whatever you want. From what I’ve gathered from Severus he’s recruiting right now. I guess there’s been a rather nasty grab at the trolls by Dumbledore. Death Eaters have been going to talk to them for months now, trying to remind them where their loyalties lie.”

“Is that where the great oaf is? Off trying to convince his own kind they should join Dumbledore?”

As Draco’s queen glides across the board, I flick my king over, scrunching up my nose as I stick my tongue out at the boy across from me, “You’ve been practicing without me.”

“You weren’t there. I bewitched our spare set to move by itself.”

Shaking my head, I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs out across the table, “Naughty boy, using magic outside school. You’re lucky you didn’t get a hearing.”

“What with them cleaning up Potter’s mess? I hardly think they had the time.”

I let out a cruel laugh, “Patronus Potter. Arrogant Potter. Nutty Potter.” Draco and I fall into a fit of laughter, our now repaired chess pieces flying back into their respective cases. “You know he took me aside, had the audacity to ask me not to tell you about his hearing.”

“As if I didn’t already know.”

“I told him we had better things to talk about than him. Think it came as a real shock, real surprised we had better things to talk about than him.”

Draco sweeps me up from the chair, settling us both on a smooth leather couch set in front of the fire, “Fudge told father everything. He was quite unimpressed with Dumbledore’s appearance. Moved the hearing to try and shake him showing up and everything.”

“Draco,” I shift around so that I’m sitting fully on his lap, our forehead’s pressed together, “We need to talk about the task I’ve been assigned.”

While I explained what I’m supposed to accomplish this year in letters, I got the impression that Draco didn’t quite grasp the full extent of what has to happen. I need him to understand what exactly I’m going to have to do, what befriending Harry will actually look like.

He nods, waiting for me to continue.

“You may hear and see me doing things this year that would look like I’m on Harry’s side. I need to know you’ll take it with a grain of salt. I don’t want this to come between us. You can’t interfere. It has to happen this way. Do you understand?”

Icy grey eyes connect with mine, his fingers curling through my hair, holding me to him; “I’m by your side until the last star falls from the sky, Isabelle, no matter what.”

“Until the last star falls from the sky.” I close the gap between our lips.


	6. Detention

Harry doesn’t waste much time in waging war against Umbridge, giving me my third chance to show him I can be trusted.

“What’s the use of that?” Harry questions, once Umbridge has finished up a rather long-winded explanation that the Ministry feels we should learn Defense Against the Dark Arts in a risk-free environment. “If we’re going to be attacked it won’t be risk-free.”

“ _Hand_ , Mr. Potter,” Umbridge forces back, her usual wide smile now completely wiped from her face as a slew of other hands shoot up.

Umbridge does her best to explain away questions from other students, often falling back on her favorite reprimand about students raising their hands to speak. About a dozen fists fly into the air, everyone demanding answers. Once again Umbridge answers these with well-rehearsed lines about theory and practical knowledge being enough to get us through our O.W.Ls.

“And what’s theory going to be in the real world?” Harry challenges.

“This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world.”

“So we’re not supposed to be prepared for what’s waiting out there?”

Umbridge swallows hard, forcing a grin, her voice taking on the same high-pitched tone as it had at the beginning of class, “There is nothing out there, dear. Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry pauses, pretending as if he’s actually giving this question some thought. “Maybe, Lord Voldemort.”

For a moment it looks as if Umbridge is at a loss for words; her perfectly crafted, Ministry approved responses meant to dispel any concerns from students probably not preparing her for the likes of Harry Potter. After a few breaths, she nonetheless paints on another wide smile, “Now let me be quite plain. You have been told that a certain dark wizard is at large once again.” She gives the class a pointed look. “ _That is a lie_.”

“It’s not a lie!” Harry erupts, his fist making contact with this desk, the book there jumping. “I saw him! I _fought_ him!”

“Detention, Mr. Potter.”

Sensing my time to butt in has arrived, I throw my own fist into the air, shaking off Draco as he whispers at me to sit back down, “He’s telling the truth, you daft woman! Your precious Minister Fudge has done and gone loony. Instead of facing the truth, he’s decided to call Dumbledore and Harry nutters.”

I don’t care about attacking the Ministry. I don’t care that she’ll ultimately tell Fudge what I’ve said. None of it will matter once he’s regained power; Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Fudge, Umbridge, the Ministry; it’ll all be worthless, relics of another time. Voldemort is back and he’s growing more powerful with each passing day. This I am certain of.

A silence falls over the room, all eyes now switching between Umbridge and myself. Draco continues to tug at the sleeve of my robes, trying to get me to retake my seat. Chest heaving, I stare down the woman in front of me. She lets out a miserable _hem_ - _hem_ , before delivering the final blow, “Potter, I will see you in my office at five o’clock sharp for your detention.” She blinks once, her eyes never leaving me. “Miss Riddle, you may join him.”

“What the hell did you do that for?” Draco demands as we file out of the classroom.

“I told you,” I jerk him out of the flow of students trying to get to the Great Hall for lunch. “This is what I have to do.”

“Make a public display of yourself?” Draco hisses back, motioning for Crabbe and Goyle, Draco’s almost constant shadows, to go on without him.

Letting out a sigh, I release my hold on the front of Draco’s robes, “Stand up for him. Be his friend. Make him trust me. Most of the school believes what they’re printing in the _Prophet_. If I show him I believe him, that I’m someone he can talk to this about, I get a foot in the door. Now, shall we go to lunch?”

“What do you suppose she’ll have you do?” questions Draco, ladling up more soup.

I offer a shrug, staring across the hall at Harry who looks like he might be having the same conversation with Ron and Hermione, “Probably paint the whole room a putrid pink to match her cardigans.”

“They are quite hideous,” Pansy offers over the top of her goblet.

“Sod off, Parkinson,” I shoot back, flicking the tip of my wand at her shoes, the laces binding themselves together.

Draco scoots closer to me, draping an arm over my shoulders as we turn away from the others at the table, “I’ll wait up for you, okay? Leave your Potions stuff out, I’ll see if I can’t get a start on it while you’re gone.”

I press a quick kiss to his cheek, feeling eyes on us from the teacher’s table.

~~~~~

“Angelina wants me to ask her to give me Friday off detention,” Harry shares as we walk towards Umbridge’s office together.

Saving him the trouble of walking all the way to the dungeons just to go back up, I met him outside of the Gryffindor common room. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Harry. She’s already going to be in a state.”

Harry shrugs, pulling the classroom door open for me, “I’ve at least gotta try. We’re having tryouts.”

I’ve only been in the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s office on one other occasion. At that point it belonged to Lupin, the small circular room filled with Grindylow tanks and posters detailing counter curses, bearing a sense of hominess. The office laid out before me is the complete opposite. Now an off-putting lavender color, plates with kittens hanging from deep pink ribbons decorate the walls. The mewing of the kittens, all clashing together makes the office feel smaller than it actually is. Perched in the middle of all this, with a black velvet bow atop her mousy brown hair, is Umbridge. She motions us to sit at two tiny desks, decorated with lace doilies, each fitted with a straight-backed chair. There is a fresh piece of parchment laid out across the tops of the desks.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter, Miss Riddle.”

“Evening,” Harry and I mumble back, neither of us quite daring to take a seat just yet.

Umbridge eyes us expectantly, once again motioning to the high-backed chairs, “Well, sit down.”

Resigned to just get whatever this is over with, I take a seat. Harry, still seeming to be trying to swallow just how deplorable the office looks, stays rooted to his spot, “Er – Professor Umbridge? Er – before we start I wanted to ask you a – a favor.”

I throw a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my groan of protest. He’s only going to make it worse for himself by trying to cut a deal. Not wanting any part of what is about to come out of Harry’s mouth, I begin riffling around in my school bag, pulling out an ink well and quill.

“Well, I’m – I’m on the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” Harry stutters out, now scratching at his forehead as he tries to muster up the courage to get the rest of his request out under the rather reproachful eye of Umbridge. “And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o’clock on Friday and I was – was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it – do it another night instead.”

Umbridge paints on a fake polite smile, slowly shaking her head, “Oh no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stores, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one’s convenience.”

I watch as Harry’s jaw clenches, his fingers curling into fists. Tipping forward just a touch in my chair, I give the back of his robes a yank, shooting him a threatening look. I might have stuck my neck out for him in class, but if he erupts again there might not be much I can do. We’ve got a mounting pile of homework and another week’s detention would set me further behind than I’m comfortable with. There’s only so many times I can get away with asking Severus to come up with an excuse to give the other professors as to why my essays will be late. My actions seem to get the ball rolling. Harry’s face relaxes and he lets himself sink into the chair next to mine, beginning to grab his own quill and ink from his bag.

Umbridge stops him partway through this activity, “No, not your quill. You’re going to be using a rather special one of mine. You too, Miss Riddle.”

I clear away my things as she hands us each jet-black quills with exceptionally sharp points, “Here you are. Now, I want you to write _I must not_ _tell lies_.

“But we – ” I stamp on Harry’s foot under the desk, catching the rest of his sentence in his throat.

“How many times?”

Umbridge smiles sweetly, settling herself back behind her own desk, already pulling a large stack of papers towards her, “Well, let’s just say as long as it takes for the message to sink in.”

“You haven’t given us any ink,” Harry announces, staring down at the blank sheet of parchment.

Cold eyes stare back at us, Umbridge doing nothing to hide the cruel smile she’s now offering, “Oh. You won’t need any ink.”

Pushing quill to paper I write out the sentence she’s given us. The words appear in glittering red ink. As I punctuate the first line, a searing pain erupts over my right hand. Almost as if on cue, Harry lets out his own hiss of pain, his eyes moving from the paper to the hand that holds his quill. Staring up at me, in Harry’s messy scrawl is the angry red message; _I must not tell lies_. Almost instantly, it heals over.

“Yes?” questions Umbridge, looking up from her own work.

As I go to tear into her, I feel another jolt of pain, this time in my foot. Harry shoots me the same look I gave him earlier, silencing the round of slurs I was about to send at Umbridge.

“Nothing,” Harry forces out, going back to writing lines.

“That’s right,” answers Umbridge, her tone girlish and sing-songy. “Because deep down you two know you deserve to be punished, don’t you?”

The night drags on. With each line a new prickle of pain slides over my hand, the same phrase appearing over and over only to be healed with a new layer of skin. We write for hours, my hand growing red, itchy, and inflamed. I resolved myself, around line ten, to not show Umbridge any signs of pain. She doesn’t get that kind of satisfaction. All thoughts of running straight to Severus, Dumbledore even, if I needed to, vanish from my mind. I refuse to allow that same cold, cruel smile to slide over her face as she realizes that she’s gotten to me. At around midnight, Umbridge sets aside her own quill, instructing Harry and me to be back in her office tomorrow night at the same time.

We slide back into the hall silently. It’s only as I go to leave Harry that he catches my arm, preventing me from going down to the dungeons. “Thanks for standing up for me in class. I don’t think I said that before.”

“Well, not supposed to tell lies, are we? Figured Dolores should take a page out of her own book.”

Harry grins at my sad attempt of turning the situation into a joke, “Something tells me Umbridge thinks she’s a bit above the book.”

As he goes to walk away, I call back to him over my shoulder, “Hey, Harry, might not help now, but if these get worse, try _Contagio_ with the tip of your wand pressing into the cut. Might help ward off infection.”

“Thanks.”

Giving him a smile, I hurry back down the steps towards the dungeons. Draco is sprawled out on the couch in front of the fire, Potions notes and books cluttering the floor below him. Gently, I lift his head, placing it on my lap as I run my fingers through his hair. He wakes with a start, nearly knocking his forehead into my chin as he sits up. His eyes frantically search the room, only losing their look of panic once they’ve landed on me.

Draco offers a sleepy smile, lying back out across the couch, “How was detention? She make you paint the office?”

“Worse,” I shove my hand in front of Draco’s face. Though the words are no longer etched there, the skin is still an angry red.

He curls his fingers around mine, tilting my hand to get a better look at it, “She hurt you?”

“She’s given us these quills that use blood instead of ink; the writer’s blood. _My_ blood.”

Draco lightly dusts his thumb over the skin; replacing it with his lips after every couple pass overs, “Tell Professor Snape.”

“No. And I don’t want you telling him either. It’d only give her what she wants.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if father’s judgment of character is as good as I’ve given him credit for.”

His words surprise me. Draco hardly ever speaks out of turn about his father, showing fierce loyalty even if Lucius doesn’t always deserve it. The few times I have heard Draco speak out against his father have been after particularly bad rows between the two, when Draco’s temper was speaking. This is not one of those times. Though always one to be protective of me, there isn’t the same angry flush over his face, the vein in his neck continuing to pulse evenly in time with his heartbeats. These words are not out of anger. This statement was made because of love and that thought sends butterflies erupting in my stomach.


	7. Where and When

I wake early the next morning, getting dressed and leaving the common room before anyone else is awake. Wandering down to the Great Hall, I spot Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny sitting together at the far end of the Gryffindor table. Abandoning what would be my usual tired, early morning traipse across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, I opt instead to slide in next to Ginny. 

Ron gives me a puzzled look, talking through a mouthful of food, “’Oof ‘ning.” 

“Good morning to you too, Ron,” I answer, grabbing a grape off his plate and sliding it into my mouth. 

“We were just telling Harry that he needs to watch his temper around Umbridge,” Hermione states matter of factly. ”Suppose you could stand to hear it too.” 

Not willing to take cheek this early in the morning, I stare down Hermione, “She’s a cow.” 

“She’s been made High Inquisitor,” Hermione retorts, splaying out her copy of the Daily Prophet so we can all see. 

Stealing a couple more grapes from Ron’s plate, I do my best to read upside down. I’m able to pick up a good bit about the Minister’s feelings of unease about what’s going on at Hogwarts and how Umbridge will be able to inspect fellow professors before Ron and Harry begin to grumble about the injustice of it all. 

“Well,” I slide another grape off Ron’s plate, chewing it slowly. “It was bound to happen. It’s no secret that Fudge is terrified Dumbledore wants his job. He’s doing everything in his power to make sure the headmaster looks like a fool. The more professors Umbridge decides should be sacked the more Ministry representatives can move in, the better Fudge looks.” 

As I go to take yet another grape from Ron’s plate, he collects them up, dropping them onto the golden dish sitting in front of me, “Thanks, Ronald.” 

“I don’t think I really had much of a choice,” he answers, his eyes shining with a smile, “You were going to eat them anyway.” 

Running my shoulder playfully into Ron’s I glance towards the door of the Great Hall where more students have started to trickle in, Draco is among them. Gathering up my grapes, I give Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny a quick goodbye. There heads tilt together the second I’m gone. Hermione glances after me leading me to suspect they're talking about me. No matter really. So long as Harry keeps thinking of me as a potential friend, Hermione can say whatever vile thoughts swirl through her brain. 

“Getting a bit cozy with Potter, don’t you think?” Draco grumbles as I slide into the bench at the Slytherin table. “First Defense Against the Dark Art now breakfast.”

Dumping my grapes onto the plate that’s appeared before me, I bat his hand away from my food, “Jealous?” 

“Of Patronus Potter?” Draco lets out a great scoff, “Never.” 

“Did you see that Umbridge has been made High Inquisitor?” 

“What’s an Inquitatator?” Goyle grunts out, spooning even more porridge into his already overflowing bowl. 

“An Inquisitor, your great buffoon. It means she’s got the right to check up on other teachers, sack them if she wants.” 

Draco sends another nasty look toward Harry and his friends, “Well that’s good, isn’t it? We’ve been complaining about the haphazard teaching for years. The Ministry is trying to clean up with school, you know?” 

“Oh come off it about the Ministry,” I snap back, in no mood for Draco to repeat more of the garbage his fathers likely been spewing over the summer. I know it’s his job to keep ears on what Fudge is up to, but it doesn’t mean he needs to act like the Minister’s lapdog. Quite honestly, I expected a bit more from Lucius. He’s already in the hot seat with Voldemort from what I’ve gathered. “This means we’re going to have to see even more of the loathsome toad.” 

At this, the sneering smile falls from Draco’s face, “More than just in Defense Against the Dark Arts? Rubbish.” 

As the bell rings to signal the end of breakfast, everyone funnels out of the Great Hall. Draco throws his arm around my shoulders, leading me toward the North Tower for Divination. Even if we had a better teacher than Trelawney I’d hate the subject. Shrouded in a bunch of fraudulent predictions of death and destruction, the subject is a waste of time. Greater witches and wizards have driven themselves mad trying to perfect the art. 

As Draco and I settle onto a pair of poufs in the corner of the highest riser, my eyes scan the room, settling on an unsightly pink lump huddling in the corner. She stands there, half-hidden behind a clipboard, eyeing the students that pour into the classroom through the trapdoor. As Trelawney begins to hand out books, Umbridge produces a chair from the end of her wand, settling it directly behind the professors. 

“Today we will be continuing our unit on dreams,” starts Trelawney in her dreamy, far-away voice. “I would like each of you to share last night's dream with your partner.” 

Leaving my book shut on the little round table between Draco and me, I lean forward on my elbows, resting my chin in cupped hands, “Ten Galleons says she gets sacked first.” 

“I thought you said the Ministry sacking teachers was a bad thing,” Draco jokes back, his eyes glittering in the low lighting of the Divination classroom. 

Rolling my eyes, I try and hide a laugh, “Come on, even I can appreciate the service Trelawney leaving would be. Have you found anyone to take the beater positions for Quidditch yet?” 

Draco, the Slytherin’s Seeker since our second year, seems to perk up at the conversation of Quidditch. He has a deep love for the game and has been flying since he was allowed a broom. Even at home, he takes any excuse to go off flying around the grounds. We spend a lot of time during our summers together seeing who can get closer to the surface of the pond on the Malfoy’s property without completely falling in. 

“Montague is leaning towards Crabbe and Goyle for our beaters.” 

“Are they any good?” 

Draco screws up his face, hiding his laughter behind his hand as Trelawney floats past us, “They can’t fly for shit, but they’re able to send the Blugers all the way across the pitch and aren’t scared to get hit by them.” 

“Anyone better try out?” 

Draco shrugs, “Heard anything about who may be trying out for Gryffindor Keeper?” 

“No. Harry’s been in too poor a mood to talk about Quidditch much. He’s going to miss tryouts on Friday, detention, and all.” 

“You’ll come to practices, right?” 

Before I’m able to answer there is a light hem-hem from my right, Umbridge staring expectantly down at me, “You aren’t participating in the lesson?” 

“What’s the point?” Draco sneers back. “It’s all rubbish anyway.” 

This answer seems to please Umbridge. She gives my boyfriend an approving smile before turning away and scribbling feverously on the paper clipped to her board. The lesson ends in Trelawney feebly trying to predict that Umbridge is in grave danger, which only gets her the cock of an eyebrow before the great pink toad disappears through the hole in the floor. 

“He walks like he owns her,” a hissing whisper follows Draco and me as we descend the stairs from the North Tower. 

Draco stops, whipping around to come face to face with Hermione. Her eyes grow wide as if she hadn’t meant for her conversation to be overheard. Ron and Harry, who are flanking her, quickly look down at the floor. The tips of Ron’s ears are going a deep, crimson red. “Problem?” 

“I just think you ought to loosen your grip least she passes out from lack of oxygen,” Hermione, who is usually the one to steer Harry or Ron away from engaging with Draco, answers back defiantly. 

I’m gently repositioned, Draco putting himself between Hermione and me. He draws himself up to full height, crossing his arms over his puffed-up chest, “Don’t talk about her, Granger. She’s too good for the likes of you.” 

I catch Harry’s eye over Malfoy’s shoulder. His eyes linger on Draco's face, eyebrows raised as if to ask if my boyfriend is being serious right now. I shrug back, used to Draco’s antics. For a group of people who claim to hate his guts, they sure do find any opportunity to get on his bad side. 

“Leave them Draco,” I gently lay my hand over his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. “She’s not worth it.” 

The rest of the week passes slowly. Harry has another outburst in Umbridge’s class, this time yelling about Voldemort attaching himself to Professor Quirrel. I don’t get involved. I might want him to trust me, but there’s no way I’m enduring another week of Umbridge’s tortuous detention. Nor do I think Draco could stomach it. He’s been in a right state, flying into long rants about how someone should be informed every time he gets even a glimpse of my hand. I’ve taken to sitting on it anytime he’s around. Even if I do enjoy his protectiveness, there are only so many times I can hear that Umbridge is a foul monster before it grows tiresome. 

By the end of Friday’s detention, my hand is dripping blood, the mere idea of writing anything else causing it to throb horribly. The only good thing that’s come out of the dismal affair is that Harry seems to consider me a bit of a confidant now. He lets little bits of information slip on our walks to and from Umbridge’s office. We walk shoulder to shoulder, whispering between each other. 

“Er – ” Harry stops at the bottom of the stairs on Friday after detention, shifting back and forth on his feet. “If you wanted to learn actual defensive magic, we’re having a meeting. Hermione doesn’t want me to tell you, but I told her you wouldn’t tell Malfoy.” 

His words take a second to settle, “A meeting? Like a study group?” 

“No,” Harry’s eyebrows screw together. Sighing, he steps down from the bottom stair, herding me over towards a bench situated along one of the vast stone walls. “We’re forming a kind of club. I’m going to be teaching a few people how to actually use defensive magic. I thought maybe you could join if you’d like.” 

His voice trails off at the end, eyes searching my face hopefully. 

“What does the Order think about this? I thought you were supposed to be keeping your head down.” 

Harry rolls his eyes, obviously tired of hearing this, “Well a certain family pet seems to think it’s a brilliant idea. We all know what’s coming. We should be prepared.” 

He’s got a point. Umbridge’s style of teaching isn’t only boring, it’s setting us back years. At this rate, everyone in the class is likely to fail their O.W.Ls. Never in my life have I head a teacher say that theory will carry us through on practical application, “Who’s teaching it?” 

“I am. It may just be Ron, Hermione, you, and me.” 

I force the wicked smile that’s now found its way to my lips into a cheery one. Harry’s just given me the in I’ve been looking for since term started, “I’d love to. When and where?” 

The day before our first Hogsmeade visit, Ron jumps out at me from behind a statue. He shoves a piece of paper into my hand before disappearing back up the hallway. Confused by the rather sporadic behavior, I unfold the paper. Across it, in neat cursive is my where and when. Hog’s Head, twelve o’clock.


	8. Hog's Head

“So tell me again where you’ve got to be,” Draco insists as we wind our way down the path towards Hogsmeade.

He’s used to having me all to himself on these visits. We usually end up sitting at a table in the back of the Three Broomsticks, talking over the latest common room gossip, or our plans for holidays. He was none too happy to find out I’d be leaving him alone for the first part of the day.

“I’ve told you, Harry’s invited me to some kind of meeting. I’d much rather wander through shops with you, but this is what I’m meant to be doing.”

Draco crosses his arms over his chest, shoving his lower lip out, “And why can’t I come?”

“Because the second they got wind of you knowing anything about it, the whole thing would come to a halt. Now, if you don’t put that lip away I might be inclined to bite it.”

This gets a devilish smirk, Draco waggling his eyebrows at me, “Is that a threat, Miss Riddle?”

“Ooh,” I laugh back, running my hip into Draco’s, pulling his arm over my shoulder, our fingers linking together. “I’ll show you a threat, Malfoy.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead, “I like it when you talk dirty.”

“Don’t let your father hear you talking like that, he’d have a cow.”

Draco cackles, throwing his head back, blonde hair flopping over his forehead, “Like that time he caught us out at the pond.” He breaks into an impression of his father, talking through nearly shut lips, eyes ablaze, “ _No son of mine_! _Wait till I tell your mother_! _Where anyone could have seen you_!”

We fall into a fit of laughter.

As we continue our stroll up the main street, I spot Ron, his red hair standing out against the throngs of students pushing their way to various shops. Tipping up on my toes, I press a kiss to the bottom of Draco’s chin, “I gotta go. I’ll meet you at the Three Broomsticks for lunch.”

“Don’t let him push you around,” Draco answers, kissing the top of my head.

“Never.”

Pushing my way up the street, I catch up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. She gives me a reproachful look, stopping their progression through Hogsmeade, “What are you doing?”

“Well, Harry invited me along. Hasn’t he told you?”

Hermione turns to Harry, a fire in her eyes, “You told her. Do you know who she spends her time with, huh? What were you thinking?”

“She’s not going to tell anyone,” Harry responds, trying to dodge out of the way of the book Hermione’s using to assault him. “She hasn’t told him about my hearing.”

Ron and I exchange a look as Hermione continues to hiss at Harry, “Having a good day?”

“Not bad, haven’t gotten hit by Hermione yet,” Ron answers with a nod. “For the record, I don’t really care you’re here. Probably good for Harry. He’s convinced no one’s going to come.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. She doesn’t like me much, huh?”

Ron shrugs, “Not sure Harry should trust you, you dating Malfoy and everything. She didn’t have a problem with you over summer though. Don’t think she likes the way Draco hangs all over you.”

We’ve started to walk again which I take as a good sign. Hermione leads the way, still whispering away to Harry, shooting looks at me over her shoulder every few seconds. “And what do you think, Ron?”

“Oh uh,” he shoves a sleeve of biscuits back into his pocket, “none of my business really. So long as you’re happy, I guess. Still think he's a git.”

Hermione leads us further away from the heart of Hogsmeade, past a few shops that look like they haven’t been open in years. She stops below a rotting wooden sign depicting the severed head of a boar, blood dripping from its neck. There are fewer students here, most not venturing from the warm, inviting windows of the main lane.

Harry gives the place a wary look, “Who’s supposed to be meeting us?”

“Just a couple people,” Hermione answers quickly before Ron has time to get any sound past his open lips.

The inside of the pub isn’t any more cheery than the outside. The only light comes from a few candles and whatever sun rays are able to break through the layer of grime caked over the windows. The cobblestone floor is covered in a thick layer of dust. As we take seats at a rickety table, a barkeep that looks like he’s somehow cheated death limps over to us. A shabby grey goat follows him around, a rusted bell tied around its neck on a piece of twine. He eyes us curiously before asking our drink orders.

“Three butterbeers,” Harry answers, his eyes landing on a witch shrouded by a black veil in the far corner. “Isabelle?”

“Firewhiskey,” I answer placing a few sickles on the tabletop.

Ron blinks back at me, “Wait, I’ll – ”

He’s cut off as Hermione turns her book on him. He gets a hit on the shoulder punctuating every word, “You are a Prefect.”

Once she’s composed herself, Hermione places the book back on the table. “Well, what do you think? I thought it’d be safe. Somewhere off the beaten track.”

“Definitely off the beaten path. Safe, I’m not so sure,” I remark, glancing up at the mite eaten ceiling boards.

“Too late to change locations now,” answers Ron as our drinks arrive.

A group of students is now pushing through the front door. In all, it looks like there might be about thirty of them. Hermione has a strange definition of a few. I recognize a couple faces, Luna Lovegood and Cho Chang from Ravenclaw, Fred and George, Ginny, and Lee Gordon. It also looks like one of the Hufflepuff Prefects has shown up; I remember his face from the train. There are no Slytherins, which doesn’t surprise me. I knew McArthur’s words about branching out were falling on deaf ears. It’s probably for the best, really. Harry, Ron, and Hermione don’t have the best view of Slytherin students. They’re liable to think any of them are just here to spy.

“A couple of people?” Harry chokes on his butterbeer as everyone settles around our table. “ _A couple of people_?”

“Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular,” Hermione answers with a shrug.

The barkeep, who had previously been cleaning a glass with a rather ratty cloth, stops. His watery eyes stare out at all the new arrivals. This is probably more people than he’s seen in years. The Hog’s Head isn’t necessarily the spot to be in Hogsmeade. He seems to be stunned to silence as Fred and George order butterbeer for everyone, holding their hands out for payment.

Harry continues to stare numbly at the tabletop, now fiddling with the cap to his bottle, “What have you been telling people? What are they expecting?”

“I’ve told you, they just want to hear what you’ve got to say.” Sensing Harry still isn’t comfortable with the number of eyes on him, Hermione does her best to settle what she perceives as nerves, “You don’t have to say anything to them yet. I’ll speak to them first.”

Once everyone has settled back into their seats, Hermione stands, eyes sweeping over the group. She wrings her hands together, tipping nervously from foot to foot, “Er. Well – er – hi. Well – erm – well, you know why you’re here. Well, Harry here had the idea – ” Harry throws Hermione a sharp look, quickly shaking his head. “I mean, I had the idea that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts and I mean, _really_ study it, you know, not the rubbish Umbridge is doing with us because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts. Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands.”

She shoots Harry a sideways glance, looking for some kind of reassurance that he seems unwilling or unable to offer, “And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells.”

“You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L too though, I bet?” A blonde boy with a yellow and black tie interrupts.

“Of course I do,” Hermione answers as if that should already be a well-known fact. “But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because – because – ”she takes a deep breath as if steadying her nerves. “Because Lord Voldemort’s back.”

A shudder runs through the crowd. A few people let out gasps of shock or cries of fear. Despite this, all eyes remain on Harry. Many of them are full of determination, others wearing looks of wonderment or curiosity. I wonder how many of them are just here hoping Harry will let a few details of what happened last year slip. Even with a full summer in between the Triwizard Tournament and the term starting, the evening Harry brought Cedric back is still a hot topic of conversation in the hallways. Rumors run rampant, ranging from the whole thing being made up to Harry singlehandedly taking on twenty Death Eaters plus Voldemort himself.

“Well, that’s the plan anyway. If you want to join us we need to decide how we’re going to – ” Hermione starts, trying to get everyone back on track.

She’s interrupted by the same blonde boy, “Where’s the proof that You-Know-Who’s back?”

“Well, Dumbledore believes it – ”

For a third time, the boy jumps in, speaking over whatever Hermione was going to say. “You mean Dumbledore believes _him_.”

“Are you calling him a liar?” I stare down the boy, rising a little in my chair.

“Who _are_ you?” Ron blurts out, tugging me back into my seat by the sleeve of my jacket.

“Zacharias Smith, and I think we’ve got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who’s back.”

“Look, that’s really not what this meeting is supposed to be about,” for the first time Hermione shoots Harry an apologetic smile. This meeting is obviously veering down a course she was hoping would be avoided.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry mumbles, standing up to address the group. “What makes me say You-Know-Who’s back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn’t believe him, you don’t believe me, and I’m not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.”

Zacharias crosses his arms over his chest, tipping his chair onto its back legs. He wears a smug smile, clearly enjoying the rise he’s getting from Harry, “All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory’s body back to Hogwarts. He didn’t give us details, he didn’t tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered. I think we’d all like to know – ”

Harry’s palm hits the wooden tabletop, the legs groaning in protest, “If you’ve come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can’t help you. I don’t want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right?” He clears his throat, chancing a glance in Cho Chang’s direction. Surprisingly, she’s yet to burst into tears, something she typically does anytime anyone so much as mentions her late boyfriend, “So if that’s what you’re here for, you might as well clear out.”

No one leaves, a quiet settling over the group. I have a feeling that a few of them, Zacharias included, are waiting for Harry to completely lose his cool only proving Fudge’s stories true. He doesn’t, taking a deep breath to steady himself. I stare out at all their expectant faces. How eager they all seem, to learn what Harry has to offer. I pity them, sitting here with such hope in their hearts. They have no idea what’s coming for them. Not even famous Potter is going to be able to save them. Prolong the experience, maybe, but in the end, the Dark Lord always gets what he wants. Those unwilling to join, die.

The mention of a Patronus pulls my attention back to the conversation, “A corporeal Patronus?”

“Yes,” Harry answers with a half-smile. Apparently the turn in conversation back to what Harry can do has cheered him up a bit.

The mood only lasts a few second though. As more people begin to list off things Harry’s accomplished, he begins to fidget. His gaze, once set on the group sitting before us, is now fixed on the knotted table. The tips of his ears, just visible under his mop of dark hair have gone pink. “Look, I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to be modest or anything, but I had a lot of help with all that stuff.”

I nearly spit out the sip of Firewhiskey I’ve just taken, covering it as a couch. Modesty is not ever a word I’d use to describe Harry. Usually, he seems quite happy to boast about the things he’s done or at least never shows any interest in squashing the ridiculous stories that grow out of it.

“Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?” Zacharias butts in again.

“Here’s an idea,” Ron bristles, his fingers now curled around his wand, “Why don’t you shut your mouth?”

Zacharias, ignoring Ron, continues to pester Harry, “Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from him, and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it.”

“That’s not what he said,” Fred growls, his eyes narrowing.

To his left, George produces a rather dangerous looking metal instrument, “Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?”

“I think – ” I raise my voice so it can be heard over the whispers that are now rippling through the group. I only continue once everyone has settled. “ – what Harry is trying to say, is that it’s one thing to know the spells, it’s another to trust instinct, or luck as Harry calls is, to know when to use them. When the time comes, when the enemy is looking you in the face, most of what you’ll do will be based on instinct.”

To no one’s surprise, Zacharias opens his mouth once again, “And who are you?”

“Your worst nightmare if you keep asking pointless questions,” I hiss back, leaning across the table so that my nose is almost touching the boy’s, giving him a nasty smile.

Harry jumps in, giving my shoulder a warning squeeze, “That’s Isabelle. She’s willing to accept what I’ve said; to learn.”

“Yes well, moving on,” Hermione seizes the moment of silence, once again trying to keep the meeting on track. “The point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?”

There is a murmur of agreement. “Right, well then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don’t think there’s any point in meeting less than once a week.”

Another rather long-winded discussion goes on as people bring up prior obligations. There’s a big concern about these meetings interfering with Quidditch. With the start of the season growing closer, no team wants to miss out on an opportunity to practice. A few other students mention other clubs they’re part of, finally agreeing that learning defensive magic is more important than plants or chess.

“Once a week sounds cool,” Lee Jordan finally says, halting any other arguments on the topic.

Hermione gives him a smile of thanks, “Now we just need to figure out where to meet.”

A few people throw out some ideas. None of them really seem plausible. There isn’t enough room in the Shrieking Shack. We aren’t supposed to be going into the forest. The librarian would never let us practice in the library and Umbridge is likely to walk in if we try using a spare classroom. In the end, Hermione suggests we all keep an eye out for a place that may be suitable. She says that if someone finds a place she’ll pass along the information to others.

After this is settled, Hermione pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill. Once again, she appears to be nervous, tipping her weight from foot to foot, “I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we’re doing. So if you sign, you’re agreeing not to tell Umbridge – ” Hermione gives me a pointed look, which I return with a crinkled nose and eye roll. “ – or anyone else, what we’re up to.”

The parchment goes around the group. Most people sign it without a second thought. A few people, the Hufflepuff Prefect amongst them, insist the signing isn’t really necessary. Hermione puts her foot down, reminding them of how important this is. Eyeing her, I spot the way her jaw juts out, the gleam of determination behind her eyes. There’s got to be more behind her wanting all of us to sign the parchment than just a record of who attended. Why else would she be so insistent? As Harry hands me the quill, I scribble my name beneath his, still eyeing Hermione suspiciously. I may have to choose the words I use to describe the meeting to Draco more carefully until I know the full extend of Hermione’s plan with this.

“Well, time’s ticking on,” Fred announces. “George, Lee, and I have got some items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we’ll be seeing you all later.”

As if that settles it, Hermione packs up the list, students dipping out of Hog’s Head in groups of twos and threes.


	9. Legilimens

I fly towards the Three Broomsticks the second Hermione pockets the sign-up list. Draco is sitting at our usual table, a golden bag sitting in front of him. He smiles when he spots me, waving me over. 

He shoves the little golden bag into my hands, “You’ve gotta try those. You’re gonna love them.”

“What are they?” I fish a candy out of the bag, nibbling at the end. Draco and I don’t always agree on candy flavors. 

Draco smiles as I take another bite, “Nougat, it's chocolate and peppermint. Those are still your favorites, right?” 

“Yes, they are,” I tilt forward, pressing an approving kiss to his cheek. “This is very sweet of you.” 

“There are another three bags in my pockets,” He admits, a light pink dusting his cheeks. “Would’ve chucked them if you’d changed your mind. I hate peppermint. How was your meeting?” 

I slide a few sickles across the table in return for butterbeers, “It went about how I expected really. Harry talked a lot, trying to get the few skeptics that showed up to believe him. We’re supposed to be finding a place to meet again.” 

“What do they want you to do?” 

“Be a part of it. Harry made it sound like I might get a bit of say as to what we’re doing.”

“Surprised Potter is willing to let a chance to grab at more fame slip through his fingers.” 

I let out a laugh, “He’s running it, but he trusts me. Says I know what I’m doing.” Leaning forward, I shoot a quick look around, lowering my voice. “I’ve got him exactly where I need him.” 

“Never doubted you for a second, you could charm a troll.” 

Batting him playfully in the arm I dig another candy out of the bag, “What should we do?” 

“We could go to the hat shop, we always get a good laugh. I’m sure they’ve got a few new ones in.” 

We wind our way back up the street, stopping occasionally to look at the different window displays. Bright orange pumpkins, little black cats, and soaring bats make up a majority of the decorations; excited chatter about the upcoming Halloween feast and Quidditch match floats past us. I’ve only been able to go to a few practices. Besides Crabbe or Goyle almost sliding off the end of their brooms once a practice, the Slytherin team actually looks pretty good. If Ron is really as dismal a player as I’ve heard, my houses’ team should have no problem taking the Quidditch Cup this year. 

“What about these?” I question about ten minutes later, plucking a rather obnoxious pair of orange spectacles from the rack, spinning around so Draco can see. 

He cracks a smile, “Those are hideous.” He reaches around me, pulling a pair of tiny, square-framed glasses from the shelf, letting them sit at the tip of his nose. “These?” 

“No,” I snatch them back, giggling. “Those were miserable.” 

We spend hours doing this, each trying to find the most hideous item in the shop to show to the other. The hat shop is the best place to do this. Carrying an assortment of odd items, it’s never that difficult to find something abysmally ugly. I spot a few bright pink bows sitting behind the counter waiting for pickup and can’t stop myself from wondering if those are going to straight into Umbridge’s collection. No one else would wear such an obnoxious color by choice. 

Draco and I run back up the path to Hogwarts hand in hand. We twirl around, singing a song he’s written for the upcoming Quidditch match between laughter. 'Weasley is our king', Draco finishes loudly, shooting golden sparks from the tip of his wand as we collapse at the edge of the Black Lake. For a while, I watch as he bounces around a few leaves, forcing them into different patterns and shapes. Soon growing bored with this, I begin to clear my mind, focusing once again on the little green flames lapping over the ends of my fingers. I’m trying to hone the skill even more, working on getting the flame to shoot out of a decided upon finger. 

By the end of the afternoon, I’ve achieved a small ball in the middle of my palm; Draco still only getting little flickers of light and oddly colored sparks. 

“Don’t get too down, Draco,” I say as we head back up to the castle, the sun now hanging low over the mountains. “I’ve heard it’s terribly complicated and that there aren’t very many witches and wizards who are ever able to do it.” 

He nods, quickly extinguishing the small flickering flame he was able to produce into his palm as we walk past Filtch, “Surprised we didn’t get called into hearings for using underage magic. I’ve been working on this all summer and by the looks of it so have you.” 

“Maybe they’re only able to track wand magic. I’ve been doing all sorts of wandless magic while at Figg’s. Almost managed to get the tea set to me.” 

~~~~~

“She knows,” I slap a notice that was hanging in the Slytherin common room onto the table. 

Harry picks it up, reading aloud so Ron and Hermione can hear, “All students organizations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs are henceforth disbanded. An organization, society, team, group, or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor. No student organization, society, team, group, or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to be a member of such group that has not been approved will be expelled.” 

“She knows,” I repeat as Harry drops the notice. 

“There’s no way she could.” 

For the first time ever, I look to Hermione for help, “Why else would she make a decree like this?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, scribbling out another line of his homework. “Because she hates students.” 

Rolling my eyes, I pull the book Harry’s been flipping through toward me, turning it to the right page before shoving it back at him, “Besides that.” 

“Then someone must have blabbed,” Ron offers, seeming to be having as much trouble with his work as Harry. His whole paper is filled with thick ink patches where he’s crossed out and rewritten things. 

Finally, Hermione looks up, “They can’t have.” 

“You’re being naïve, Hermione,” Ron grumbles, “You think just because you’re all honorable and trustworthy – ”

Hermione slams her book shut, receiving a disapproving look from the librarian, “No, they can’t have blabbed because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all sighed. Believe me, if anyone’s run off and told Umbridge, we’ll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it.” 

Good to know my suspicions were correct. The little bit of information I gave Draco must have been okay though. I’ve not sprouted a second nose or anything alarming like that. Wiggling my toes around, I try and make sure I’ve still only got ten, tongue running along my teeth to make sure they all feel normal. 

“Worried, Granger?” 

She narrows her eyes as she looks over at me, “I wouldn’t have forced you to sign it if that’s what you’re asking. Harry seems to trust you, so I guess I’m going to trust his judgment.” 

“I haven’t grown any abnormalities, have I?” 

“No,” Hermione settles, her face relaxing, “No, I suppose not.” 

Ron, who has completely given up on the homework, shuts his book, “So no one who signed told her. Maybe someone who was in there told her.” 

“I doubt it,” Hermione answers. “Come on, we’re going to be late for Potions.” 

I leave Harry, Ron, and Hermione outside Snape’s classroom to go stand with Draco. He’s showing a note around to a few other students, all of them seem to be excited by whatever it says, “Yes, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway. I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic. I mean, she knows my father really well; he’s always popping in and out of the Ministry. It’ll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor is allowed to keep playing, won’t it?” 

So focused on our meeting being disclosed to Umbridge, I hadn’t even thought about Quidditch being included in the decree. Snatching the letter from a student standing next to me, I read it over. It plainly states that Slytherin may reform their Quidditch team. Umbridge’s signature and title sit at the bottom. Sometime tells me that Umbridge and Lucius being friendly towards each other isn’t the only reason she allowed the Slytherin team to continue. By now, she’s probably gathered the riff between Slytherin and Gryffindor. I’m sure it brings her immense pleasure to hold something like this over Harry’s head. 

“Hello, princess,” Draco whispers once he’s gotten the letter back. 

I smile up at him, “It took you seconds to get that, didn’t it?” 

“She practically had it written before I walked in,” Draco chuckles as the dungeon door opens. 

We take our usual seats at the front between Crabbe and Goyle. As Draco sets up our stations, I tip back in my chair, talking with the girl sitting directly behind me, my hair hanging over her desk, “If your cat doesn’t stop going after mine, I may have to turn it into a nice pair of mittens.” 

“I’ve done everything I can do. I don’t know why they’ve stopped getting on.” 

Snape shuts the dungeon door, the echo covering my last words, “Just handle it.” 

I tip back into my spot just as Severus reaches the front of the room, turning to address the class. He keeps his fingertips pressed into his desk, a thin frown set on his face, “You will notice that we have a guest with us today.” 

He shoots a look into the corner of the room. Umbridge is perched on a stool, clipboard resting on her knees. This ought to be good. If there’s one thing Snape hates more than Harry, it’s having someone breathing down his neck while he tries to teach. I’m sure Umbridge’s questions and obnoxious throat clearing will not be tolerated any more than foolish wand-waving and incorrect potions. 

“We will be continuing with our Strengthening Solutions today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson, if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend. Instructions – ” Severus waves his wand over the board “ – on the board. Carry on.” 

Draco sends Crabbe and Goyle to collect our potions, scooting his chair closer to me, “How much longer do you think Helix is going to have to stay with me? She gets antsy at night. I can’t get her to settle like you can.” 

“I’ve had a word with Pamela,” I answer beginning to cut up ingredients. “Should have the situation handled by tonight.” 

We fall into silence, occasionally asking the other to pass some ingredient or another. Draco and I are on about the same skill level when it comes to potions. I feel at home behind a cauldron, knowing, that if I’ve followed the instructions I will get the desired result. I don’t find myself as frustrated in Potions as some other classes where the desired results don’t always occur on the first try. 

“Clockwise, clockwise,” I whisper under my breath, grabbing Draco’s hand before he starts stirring in the wrong direction. His eyes are focused on Umbridge who has now risen, beginning to ask questions. 

He gives me a smile, now stirring properly, “She won’t try and sack him, will she?” 

“I doubt it,” but I do pause in my potion-making to listen in on what is being said. Snape is my only way to communicate with the others. I need him to keep his job here. 

Umbridge looks even smaller than usual, standing in Snape’s shadow, “You applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?” 

“Yes,” Severus answers in the same cold, smooth tone he uses with students. 

She scribbles something down on her clipboard, “But you were unsuccessful.” 

Snape takes in a sharp breath, Umbridge having hit a nerve. He’s been trying for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for years. 

“Obviously.” 

As Umbridge moves down the front row, asking various students how they feel about the class, the room fills with a terrible stench. His nose twitching, Snape strides up the rows, trying to detect where it’s coming from. Leaving my potion to bubble, I twist in my seat; Snape has stopped in front of Harry’s usual spot in the back. 

He taps the edge of Harry’s cauldron with his wand, the smell instantly dissipating, “No marks again, then, Potter.” 

“Fancy skipping out on Divination?” Draco whispers as the bell rings to signal the end of class. “We could go down to the lake.” 

I’m rather disappointed that Snape didn’t have more of a go at Umbridge. He had every right to, with her poking into his history and threatening to take up the matter with Dumbledore. If anyone was going to put Umbridge in her place, I was sure it’d be Severus. 

“Yeah, alright. Should we get our brooms?” 

“No. I thought we could try that thing again,” Draco answers, leading us towards the front doors. 

Groaning, I stop, causing Draco to give my arm a yank, both of us tipping backward, falling into each other as we try and regain balance, “Draco, it isn’t working. I’ve been trying for weeks. I’ll just end up with another headache.” 

“I thought you said he wanted you to learn it,” Draco shoots back, now trying to push me down towards the lake. “Come on, just a few times and then we can read. It isn’t much more pleasant for me.” 

I got instructions, through Snape, that I’m supposed to be learning to pull thoughts from other people’s heads. He said, that once the skill is mastered, it’s fairly easy. What Severus failed to tell me, was exactly how to master it. He gave me vague explanations about concentrating and emptying my own head. Draco’s been a willing test subject, but mostly we just both end up with raging headaches and little whispers of what the other person was thinking. 

“Lay down,” I instruct, patting my lap after I’ve settled myself against a tree by the lake. We’re mostly shielded here, bushes growing up along the path, blocking us from view. “I don’t want you tipping over and hitting your head again.” 

On our first attempt at this, neither Draco nor I knew what would happen. We started in the common room. He took a rather nasty spill into a table, cutting his forehead open. He had to lie to Madam Pomfrey, saying he got tangled up in his robes after a long night studying and hit his head when he tripped on the steps. 

Draco settles himself down, head resting in my lap, eyes fluttering closed, “Whenever you’re ready.” 

Taking a few deep breaths, I let my eyes close, trying to clear my head. Curling my fingers around my wand, I point it at Draco, “Legilimens.” 

Colors swirl, the far-away sound of laughter filling my ears. Draco bites into his bottom lip; nose scrunched in what I hope isn’t pain. Sighing, I move my wand away from him, “Sorry.” 

“Didn’t hurt as much as last time, actually.” 

“That probably means I’m getting worse.” 

Draco, sensing that I’m close to just giving up, sits up quickly, taking my hands in his, “We’ll try again. This time I won’t try and block you.” 

“You’ve been trying to block me?” I shoot back incredulously. “You never said anything about that.” 

He chuckles at my sudden outburst, pressing his lips to my forehead, “You’re so good at everything. I thought it’d make it more challenging. Besides, you don’t suspect people are just going to let you delve into their thoughts without fighting back, do you?” 

“Well, no,” I deflate, letting my head rest against Draco’s shoulder for a second. “Lie back down.” 

Draco obliges, settling back down, his head once again resting in my lap, “Whenever you’re ready.” 

“Legilimens.” 

For a few seconds, I get a clear picture. Draco on his first day at Hogwarts, waiting to be sorted, his father sneering at him over the morning paper, the Dark Mark floating in a starless sky. The images begin to blur out, transforming from solid into swirling colors. 

Icy grey eyes stare up at me; “It’s a lot harder to push you out once you’re already in.” 

“How’d you do it?” 

Draco shrugs, sitting up and pulling a book out of his school bag, “Each time a memory came up, I tried thinking of a different one. That didn’t seem to work so well so I just kind of drifted off, thought about nothing. You got another memory or two before it pushed you back. It’s a funny feeling. Like my brain is too big for my skull like something else is in there.” 

“Do you want to have a go?” 

He stops, the book suspended in midair, “At trying to get in your head?” 

“Yeah. I’m curious if I can block you out.” 

Draco frowns, looking down to where his wand is sticking out of his pocket, “I don’t want to hurt you or anything.” 

“You seem just fine,” I egg him on, now eager to see if I’m able to fight against it the way he is. “It’s only fair.” 

Sighing, he nods, stretching out his legs so I can lay my head against them. Breathing in and out evenly, I try to clear my head, chanting nothing over and over, “Whenever you’re ready.” 

There’s a jolt, pain prickling just behind my eyes. My brain pushes against my skull, suddenly feeling too big for the space. Little whispers float on the wind. 

It’s second year. Neville’s just fainted in Herbology. Professor Sprout states he probably wasn’t wearing his earmuffs correctly. Draco reaches across the table, hands on the pads of the fluffy black earmuffs I’m wearing. He adjusts them a little, pink rising to his cheeks as I catch his eye, “I think they’re alright now.” The image flips. I’m standing in a graveyard, Cedric’s stunned face stares up at me, cold hands caress my cheek. Harry and I are standing in the hallway at Grimmauld Place, I’m handing him the slip of paper with the magical laws on it. 

“No!” I fly forward, eyes shooting open. The Hogwarts’ grounds come into focus; crisp greens and browns, the lapping of the lake on a rocky shore filling my ears. 

Draco stares at me, his eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open, “I didn’t know you remembered that.” 

“Remembered what?” I snap, my head now throbbing. 

Gently, Draco curls his arms around me, holding me tightly to his chest. For a while, he hums quietly, fingers working against my temples in slow, soothing circles. I slowly relax against him, letting my head fall into the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering closed once again. 

“I didn’t know you remembered that day in Herbology. It was such an insignificant thing.” 

I smile, rolling my head so that I can kiss his neck. My hand finds his, our fingers intertwining. Draco almost automatically goes to tracing the moon, now almost a complete circle, on my wrist, “It wasn’t insignificant. You cared. You didn’t want me hitting the ground like Neville. It’s one of my favorite memories.” 

My hand is lifted, his lips pressing to my knuckles, “You are the most incredible girl I’ve ever met. Just when I think I’ve learned everything, discovered all your secrets, you surprise me.”


	10. Dumbledore's Army

Harry snatches me coming out of Charms. Tugging at the sleeve of my robes, he drags me down a nearly deserted corridor. His hair is more disheveled than usual, his eyes full of frantic excitement, “I think we’ve found a place. Can you meet us outside the Gryffindor common room tonight? Half-past seven.”

“I – Slytherin is having Quidditch practice tonight. I promised Draco I’d go.”

“I think this is a little more important that watching your pompous boyfriend fly around,” Harry huffs back, an edge to his tone.

Sighing, I let my bag drop further off my shoulder, threatening to fall, “Alright.”

At around seven-fifteen, I leave the Quidditch Stadium, making my way back up to the castle. Practice was pretty much winding down by then anyway, Montague pulling everyone out of the air to talk more strategy. I’m at the end of the hall leading to the Gryffindor common room when the Fat Lady’s portrait swings open, Ron, Harry, and Hermione stumbling out of it.

“Hold it,” As we all go to round the corner to mount the steps, Harry throws an arm up, pulling a folded bit of parchment out of his pocket. He touches the tip of his wand to the center of it, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

I peer over Harry’s shoulder, curling red ink bleeds across the parchment. _Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are proud to present The Maurder’s Map_ , “Wait, Padfoot as in – ”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers back, now scanning over what appears to be a map of Hogwarts, little ink dots moving about the various corridors.

Curious, I lean in closer, every single person in the castle seems to be accounted for, “Does he know you have that?”

“Professor Lupin’s probably told him by now,” Harry answers absentmindedly, going back to examining the map. “Filch is on the second floor and Mrs. Norris is on the fourth.”

“And Umbridge?” Hermione inquires anxiously, now pouncing on the balls of her feet, peering out around the corner as if Umbridge is going to be lurking there, waiting to catch us red-handed.

“In her office.” Harry taps the map again, tucking it back in his pocket. “Okay, let’s go.”

Fifth-years are allowed to be out in the corridors until nine o’clock. Despite being well within our rights to go wandering, all four of us seem to be checking over our shoulders the whole way up to the seventh floor. I wouldn’t put it past Umbridge to decide we look like we’re up to no good and give us detention. Once on the right floor, Harry leads us through a couple hallways, stopping when we reach the right one. We’ve arrived at a corridor with a long stretch of blank wall. The opposite wall is almost completely covered by a tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy attempting to train trolls for the ballet.

As a troll’s club nearly misses Barnabas’s head, Harry turns to us, “Okay. Dobby said to walk past this bit of wall three times, concentrating hard on what we need.”

Fighting off the feeling of looking like a complete dolt, I stride up and down the hall. Ron’s got his face screwed up in concentration, Hermione’s low whispers echoing up the deserted hall. I stare at my feet as I walk, silently repeating what we need. _A room to practice the Dark Arts_. _A room to practice the Dark Arts_.

“Harry,” Hermione interrupts my silent chanting as I go to make a fourth pass down the hall. Where there was once just blank wall, a door now sits. It’s brass doorknob sparkles in the candlelight, almost daring us to open it. With a resolute nod, Harry steps forward, pulling the door open and ushering us all inside.

The room is spacious, lit with torches in heavy brass holders along the wall. The back wall of the room is lined with bookshelves, full of titles meant to instruct a student on mastering the Dark Arts and various jinxes and spells. Stacked in a corner are dozens of silk cushions. Another secret of Hogwarts’ to mark off my list; I’m pretty sure this puts me two ahead of Draco. As Hermione settles on one of the cushions with a book, there is a knock on the door. A few seconds later, a group of Gryffindors slide inside. They stare in awe at the room, spinning around in slow circles, trying to take everything in. Over the next thirty minutes, more students arrive in groups of twos and threes, all showing equal pleasure in the practice spot Harrys discovered.

Once everyone has arrived, the room full of low murmurs, Harry turns the heavy looking brass key sticking out of the door. A rumble echoes through the room, a hush falling over the group. Satisfied with this, Harry gives another resolute nod as if mentally preparing himself for what comes next. He takes his spot at the head of the room, looking out at everyone, “Well, this is the place we’ve found for practices, and you’ve er – obviously found it okay.”

“It’s fantastic,” Cho whispers out, still looking around the room in wonderment.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and, er,” Harry spots Hermione’s raised hand. “What, Hermione?”

“I think we ought to elect a leader,” Hermione announces in an authoritative tone.

“Harry’s leader,” Cho states with a shrug.

There is a chorus of the same sentiment, many just nodding their heads.

Hermione frowns, rolling out the sign-up sheet she had at our first meeting, “Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly. It makes it formal and gives him authority.”

“Isabelle is helping too,” Harry cuts in, giving me a side-glance. We’re the only two left standing, everyone else opting to plop down on a cushion.

Hermione continues on as if Harry hasn’t said anything, “So, everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?”

Everyone puts a hand in the air, even the blonde Hufflepuff boy who caused such annoyance at the Hog’s Head gathering.

“Er, right, thanks,” Harry’s face falls as he spots Hermione’s hand yet again raided high in the air. “ _What_ , Hermione?”

She continues on in the same bossy tone, giving everyone in the room a once over to make sure she’s got their attention, “I also think we ought to have a name. It would promote the feeling of team spirit and unity, don’t you think?”

A few people throw some suggestions out. They’re mostly slights at Umbridge or the Ministry. None of these seem to please Hermione, her lips in such a thin line that they almost disappear from her face, “I was thinking more of a name that didn’t tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings.”

“The Defense Association? The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we’re talking about.” Cho suggests.

Ginny, sitting a little behind her, smiles, “Yeah, the D.A’s good, only let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?”

Appreciative murmurs go up through the group, people nodding in agreement. Fred gives Ginny a congratulatory clap on the shoulder, grinning down at her.

I’m not always too keen on Dumbledore’s policies, but I know well enough the alternatives aren’t much better. If we get caught, if that list falls into the wrong hands, Fudge will have more than enough ammunition to finally get rid of the current Headmaster. What others in the group seem to see as defiance, I see as playing right into the Ministry’s hands. “I don’t think – ”

But Hermione cuts me off, her voice rising above the murmurs still rippling through the group, demanding attention, “All in favor of the D.A.?” She quickly counts the hands, “That’s a majority. Motion passed!”

Once Hermione is done writing the name on top of paper everyone signed and packed it safely in her bag, Harry addressed the group, “Right, shall we get practicing then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is _Expelliarmus_ , you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it’s pretty basic but I’ve found it really useful. It saved my life last June. Okay. I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice.”

Everyone splits up, Neville being the only one without a partner. He stares dejectedly down at his shoes, wand held limply in his hand.

As others begin trying to disarm their partners, Harry pulls me into a corner of the room, “Will you work with Neville so I can walk around and observe?” He shoots a quick glance over my shoulder, lowering his voice to barely a whisper, “He can do it, he might just need some encouragement along the way.”

“Yeah okay,” Stepping around Harry I approach Neville who has taken on a forlorn look, staring out at the others. “Hi, Neville.”

“Oh, um,” he offers a small smile, only the left corner of his lips tugging up, “Hi.”

“Mind if I work with you?”

Neville’s expression brightens, a little light coming back to his eyes, “Yeah, that’d be okay.”

He might be a bit clumsy, but Neville’s got heart, determination. There’s a fire burning behind his eyes I’ve seen in very few who walk these halls. I can’t say I blame him. Learning these spells for others is neat and practical, for Neville I think it’s personal. Though he doesn’t readily share the information, I know what happened to his parents. I can only imagine how that’s shaped him.

“Bend from the elbow,” I gently place my hand on Neville’s shoulder, curling my other around his elbow. He lets his arm go limp, allowing me to demonstrate the motion, “And when your arm is fully extended, push the spell out at me.”

He practices this motion a few times, muttering under his breath, “Can you do it again, just so I can see?”

“Yeah,” taking a few steps back, I raise my wand. “ _Expelliarmus_!” Neville’s wand flies across the gap, right into my waiting hand. “It’s all about really meaning it.”

As Harry walks to the front of the room again, Neville sends out his last charm of the night. My wand slips from my grip, clattering to the floor. I give the boy a genuine smile, “Good job, Neville. A bit more practice and I bet you’ll be able to get it to come right to you.”

“You think?” Neville whispers back as Harry goes to speak.

“Just gotta believe in yourself.”

The sharp trill of a whistle silences the room. Harry smiles out at everyone, seemingly pleased with how his first class went, “Well, that was pretty good, but we’ve overrun, we’d better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?”

“Sooner!” A few people in the back answer excitedly.

A girl I recognize at the Gryffindor Quidditch captain shakes her head, “The Quidditch season’s about to start, we need team practices too!”

“Let’s say next Wednesday night, then,” Harry answers, getting an approving nod from his captain. “And we can decide on additional meetings then. Come on, we’d better get going.”


	11. Weasley Is Our King

I spend the better part of the next two weeks helping Draco make buttons for the upcoming Quidditch match. Glowing green, they bear a crown reading _Weasley is our King_ and change to _Potter Stinks_ if pressed. He’s enchanted them with an ingenious little spell, making it impossible for them to say anything pleasant about Harry. If tampered with, the messages grow nastier; including _Potter_ really _stinks_.

Harry, who makes a point to avoid me whenever Draco is around, has taken to slipping notes into my bag or my pockets when we pass in the halls. Mostly it’s questions about what we should move onto now that people have gotten a pretty good handle on the Disarming Charm. While mostly uninteresting, there are a few notes worth keeping. Harry asks questions concerning my knowledge of reoccurring dreams. When pressed, he describes the dreams as if there is a maze in his head, always leading him up the same hallway, always ending in the same door. While Harry seems to pass these dreams off as an annoying inconvenience, it gives me all the information I need; it’s working.

As the first Quidditch match of the year quickly approaches, the intimidation tactics turn nasty. It’s no surprise to see a Gryffindor Quidditch player splayed out in the hallway, under a jinx by someone in Slytherin. After discovering the professors turning a deaf ear to this dirty play, the Gryffindors retaliate. Draco, who claims Ron is about a good a Keeper as a troll, takes to imitating him dropping the Quaffle or sliding off his broom whenever Ron is within earshot. Despite the pleading looks for help from Harry and Hermione, I laugh along with the rest of my house. It’s all in good fun. Nothing brings out the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin house quite like Quidditch.

The Great Hall is full of energy on the morning of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match. From my seat next to Draco, I spot Luna Lovegood. It’s actually quite hard to miss her. She’s wearing a large hat in the likeness of a lion’s head. Every few minutes it lets out a monstrous roar heard even over the excited chatter. Ron is harder to spot. I find him between Harry and Ginny, sitting so low on the bench it looks like he’s trying to disappear under the table. He’s taken on a rather green look, his eyes not lifting from the floor.

“Maybe he’ll get sick and they’ll have to forfeit,” Blaise says hopefully, following my gaze across the Great Hall.

Draco sets his glass of orange juice down, “I don’t want to win against Potter by default. Walk me down to the pitch, Bell?”

“Delighted to.”

Almost four years ago I made this same walk from the castle with Draco. Then he was a bundle of nerves, nearly tripping every other step as he tried to talk himself up. For the time leading up to that first game he ever played as a Seeker, he was bombarded by people telling him he couldn’t do it, that he bought his way onto the team. He let it get to him; the pressure only added by knowing his father would be in the stands. In an attempt to take his mind off of things, I’d made up this silly little dance. We stood just outside of the changing room door, bouncing from foot to foot, one fist thrown into the air. They might not have won that game, but Draco played valiantly. Now, he considers the stupid dance a good luck charm. We sneak down to the stadium before anyone else to perform the ritual before each game.

How silly we’d look to anyone on the outside, both fifteen now, hopping from foot to foot, spinning around in little circles. It’s worth it to see Draco laughing and happy. “Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Both. One fist in the air for Slytherin’s win.”

Draco falls into my shoulder, “Thank you. I dread the day you tell me we’ve grown too old for this.”

“We’ll never be too old for this,” I smile back as the rest of the team begins to appear.

Tipping up on my toes, I press a kiss to each of Draco’s cheeks, ending on his forehead; my own little good luck ritual. “Kick arse. I’ll see you after the game.”

Pulling my own _Weasley is our King_ button out of my robe pocket, I pin it to myself. I wasn’t sure Harry would take too kindly to see me wearing it around the castle, but I’d never give up an opportunity to support Draco. Harry’ll be too focused on the game to notice. I push my way through the stands, sliding in next to Lucius and Narcissa.

Mr. Malfoy smiles at me, eyes settling on the pin, “What is that?”

“Draco made them,” I press it so that it flashes _Potter Stinks_ , fishing a few more out of my pocket to hand to Lucius and Narcissa.

Mr. Malfoy turns up his nose, but Draco’s mom takes one, attaching it to the front of her jacket, “Always such a creative child.”

“How has your school year been,” Lucius questions as the teams walk out onto the pitch.

I lock in on Draco, “Very – ” sliding my eyes away from my boyfriend, I stare at Lucius, returning his cold expression “ – colorful.”

Whatever comment he was going to offer back gets drowned out by the roar of the crowd. The players have risen into the air, Madame Hooch tossing the Quaffle up. Draco and Harry both rise above the other players, already searching for the Snitch. They circle the field in opposite directions.

“And it’s Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I’ve been saying it for years but she still won’t go out with me – ” 

“Jordan!” Professor McGonagall scolds. 

“Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest – and she’s ducked Warrington, she’s passed Montague, she’s – ouch – ” A groan runs through the Gryffindor section of the stands “ – been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe. Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch – ”

Fred whacks a Bludger down pitch, Montague taking it in the head. As he spirals towards the ground, Katie Bell from Gryffindor catches it. The breath the Slytherin section has been holding is let out in a defeated huff.

It starts slow, just a few kids humming the tune, a few muttering the words. As more and more Slytherins join in, the song Draco wrote begins to sound like a low roar, growing in volume as other houses join in.

_Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring,_

_That’s why Slytherins sing;_

_Weasley is our King._

Lee Jordan raises his voice, practically screaming into the microphone in an attempt to drown us out. To match his efforts, what once was a song becomes a chant, rumbling across the pitch.

_Weasley was born in a bin,_

_He always lets the Quaffle in,_

_Weasley will make sure we win,_

_Weasley is our King._

The whole Slytherin section sways together, creating a living ocean of emerald green and shining silver. Throwing my arm out, I wrap the other around Blaise’s shoulders, laughing and singing along as everyone loops the song.

To my left, Mr. Malfoy scoffs, staring down his nose at me, eyes full of disapproval, “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

Laughing, I shrug back, “It’s a Quidditch match, we’re supposed to be making a spectacle of ourselves.”

“ – so it’s the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, brother of Beaters, Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team.”

Warrington is flying down the pitch, Quaffle tucked under his right arm. Once he’s certain he’s close enough, he chucks the red ball at the central hoop. Whoops and yells of delight flow through the crowd as Ron dives, flailing his arms wildly, the Quaffle soaring right through them.

“Slytherin score!”

We’re up twenty to nothing when it happens. Harry goes into a dive, Draco on his heels. Pressing myself as far into the safety barrier as I can, I try and spot their target. Wherever it was, it must have changed location. Draco pulls a tight turn in the air, heading back in the direction he’s just come from. Harry, who was father up the pitch than Draco, takes a second to spin around. Soon, they’re neck and neck, Draco laying flat on his broom, hand outstretched. It’s over in a matter of seconds, Draco’s hand curling over Harry’s, which is already shut. He floats up, holding the hand with the Snitch in it over his head. The whistle sounds.

Crabbe who either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care that the whistles been blown, sends a Bludger at Harry. It hits him in the head, causing him to fall from his broom, landing roughly on the ground a few inches away.

Madame Hooch gives the whistle another sharp blow as the players begin to land. From my position, I can see Draco saunter forward, sneering at Harry. Whatever he’s saying seems to rub the Gryffindors the wrong way. Angelina and Harry have taken hold of the Weasley twins who are trying to get to Draco. Not deterred, he appears to keep talking, likely bragging about the song. Whatever he’s said sends Harry flying at him.

“Draco!” As Harry pummels into my boyfriend, I push people aside, making a mad dash towards the pitch. Screw being Harry’s friend, screw the mission. No one lays a hand on someone I care about.

As I reach the entrance to the pitch, I see Madame Hooch shoot off a spell at Harry. He flies backward away from Draco who lays curled on the ground, blood trickling from his nose. Pushing past Professor Sprout who has been posted to keep students off the field, I run to Draco.

Dropping to my knees, I get him to uncurl, tilting his head back and forth gently, “Are you okay?”

“They just came at me,” He pants back, wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his uniform, staining the brilliant green and deep red.

“Okay,” I help him up off the ground leading us to the castle.

Once we’re back in the Slytherin common room, I deposit him on a couch, “Let me see it.”

Draco tries to bat my hands away as I gently press my fingertips to the skin around his nose, “You’re fussing.”

“You need fussing,” I catch his wrists in my free hand, holding them still. “I need to make sure it’s not broken. I can fix the blood, but we’ll need Madame Pomfrey if it needs reset.”

This seems to settle him. Draco lets me continue on with my examination, pinching and prodding until I’m certain his nose doesn’t need looking over by the school’s healer. With a flourish of my wand, I clear up the blood still dripping from Draco’s nose and the stain on his robes.

He gives me a smile, kissing the top of my hand in his own version of a thank you, “Fancy a bath?”


	12. Hidden Beauty

Draco and I sit in the common room long after everyone else has gone to bed. As the clock chimes ten, Draco stands, offering me his hand. We slip through the entrance, making our way quickly up the steps. Draco leads us up to the fifth floor, hurrying along the hallways. He stops suddenly just to the left of a statue of Boris the Bewildered. I have to pinwheel my arms in order to regain balance and not knock into him. He grins, pressing a finger to my forehead as if that's actually going to help. 

“Bursting Bubbles,” Draco whispers.

There’s a light click, the door we’re standing in front of swinging open. He ushers me inside a light tiled room. The moonlight streaming in through the high windows turns the room into a glowing pearl of iridescent colors. To one side are shower and toilet stalls, all hidden behind doors etched with the Hogwarts crest. Directly in front of me is a large, marbled pool-like tub surrounded by dozens of golden faucets. Behind the tub is a stained glass window depicting a mermaid with brilliant golden hair and a glittering emerald tail. She glances over at us before continuing to run a shell brush through her long locks. 

Draco throws his arms out, spinning in a slow circle, “Welcome to the prefects bathroom.” 

“This is wicked.” 

As Draco begins to turn knobs, filling the bath with elegant smelling bubbles and simmering silver water, I strip down to my bra and underwear. He follows suit, sliding into the tub with his boxers on. The bath fills quickly, Draco turning the taps off only minutes later. 

We float around for a while, enjoying the silence and the feeling of warm water caressing our skin. He reaches across the growing gap between us, catching my hand in his, pulling me in closer. Draco hums, the melody echoing back on us. I've never been jealous of the Prefects before. All their duties seem mind mumblingly boring, but I'd deal with that if it meant I got to use this bathroom all the time. It definitely beats the cramped dorm bathrooms which always seem to be full of people regardless of the time of day. 

I manage to float a few of the bubbles off the surface of the water. They bounce around in air, moving in time with the movements of my fingers. With more time to practice now that I’m not trying to hide it from Mrs. Figg or people at Grimmauld Place, I’ve gotten quite good at wandless levitation. Draco, who has also come a long way with the art since the beginning of term, manages to pop three of them. 

“I had a go at their family, the Weasley’s,” Draco admits sometime later, the two of us cuddled together on a bench built into the tub. Most of the bubbles are gone, the water now glimmering up at us. 

Scoping up another handful of the remaining bubbles, I blow them gently, sending them showering down over Draco, “I figured it was something like that.” 

“I had that Snitch you know, it was mine.” 

Flopping back against Draco’s water-slicked chest, I lean my head on his shoulder, staring up at the ceiling. Like the Great Hall, the ceiling in the Prefect’s bathroom has been enchanted, stars twinkle back at me, “You haven’t got anyone to impress in here, Draco.” 

One of the many things I cherish about my relationship with Draco is how direct we can be with each other. Draco tells me when I’m letting my temper get the better of me when I need to remember who I am and what’s important. In turn, I remind him that life doesn’t always need to be a competition. Much like his father, Draco is prideful. He sees every loss, every slight as something personal. Sometimes he needs a gentle nudge out of the fixation this breeds. Usually, he takes these with a smile, happy to move forward. We use this openness, this ability to hear each other to help the other grow, to be the best they can be. 

“I want to impress you. I want you to be proud of me.” 

I lay a quick kiss against the shell of Draco’s ear before responding, “I’m always proud of you. Your worth is more than Quidditch.” 

“I love you,” he whispers back, holding me tighter to him. 

“And I love you. Did Crabbe get in trouble for that Bludger?” 

Draco lets out a snort of laughter, “He got lines.”

“And the others?” 

“Banned – ” A familiar triumphant glint comes into his icy grey eyes “– for life.” 

~~~~~

“Why’re you all shiny?” Pansy demands the next morning as we get dressed. 

I glance down at my skin, it’s got a silvery shine, glimmering in the low lighting, “Draco and I went for a bath last night.” 

“He’s not supposed to have you in there,” she spits back, crinkling up her nose. “Its Prefects only.” 

“Oh yeah, what’re you gonna do about it Parkinson?” 

Instead of arguing further, she lets out a frustrated humph before stalking out of the dorm. 

The walk to Care of Magical Creatures is miserable. Even with thick furs on, the wind cuts like a knife. By the time we reach the hut, the bottom of my robes are soaked through, toes going numb. Hagrid, who typically looks a bit disheveled, now looks as if he’s been put through a meat grinder. His eye is puffy, the skin around it a putrid yellow-green. Cuts litter his hands, all in various stages of healing. He certainly doesn’t look fit to be teaching. Someone should get him a hot water bottle and demand he have a lie-down. 

Despite his appearance, he gives the class a cheery smile, motioning for us to draw closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, “We’re workin’ in here today! Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark.”

“What prefers the dark?” Draco questions, pushing Crabbe and Goyle ahead of us as the class begins to follow Hagrid into the Forest. Ever since his detention first year, Draco has given the Forest a wide berth. I never have been able to get the full story out of him. “What did he say prefers the dark, did you hear?” 

Blaise followed closely by Pansy, falls into step with us, giving Draco a shrug, “He didn’t say, mate.” 

“I’ve bin savin’ a trip inter the forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we’d go an’ see these creatures in their natural habitat,” Hagrid leads us further into the thick tree cover. “Now, what we’re studyin’ today is pretty rare, I reckon I’m probably the on’y person in Britain who’s managed ter train ‘em – ”

Draco stops walking causing me to run into his back, Blaise crashing into me. He whispers a quick apology as Draco stares him down, “And you’re sure they’re trained, are you? Only it wouldn’t be the first time you’d brought wild stuff to class, would it?” 

A murmur of agreement goes up amongst the students, a few looking around warily. 

“ ’Course they’re trained,” Hagrid answers back gruffly; readjusting the dead thing he’s brought along with him. 

“So what happened to your face, then?” Draco demands. 

“Mind yer own business!” Hagrid snaps. 

The rest of the walk is quiet. When we reach a spot in the forest where the trees grow so close to each other there is no snow, Hagrid stops, dropping the meat he’s been carrying. Draco presses his back firmly against one of the trees, eyes darting around. He keeps a firm grip on my hand, only allowing me to wander a few inches away from him before gently tugging me back. 

“Gather roun’, gather roun’. Now, they’ll be attacked by the smell o’ the meat but I’m goin’ ter give ‘em a call anyway, ‘cause they’ll like ter know it’s me.” 

Hagrid gives two shrieking calls before I see them. Slinking its way cautiously through the dense tree cover is a skeletal horse. Its nostrils twitch, milky white eyes staring out at the class. Once it has decided we aren’t here to hurt it, the horse swishes its great black tail, beginning to tear meat from the carcass Hagrid put down. 

“Oh, an’ here comes another one!” Hagrid says excitedly as another winged horse joins the first. “Now, put yer hands up, who can see ‘em?” 

About six kids put their hands up; amongst them are Harry, Neville, and myself. Hagrid gives us a solemn nod, offering a sympathetic smile. According to what I’ve read, the only way you’re able to see these creatures is by witnessing death. It's how they've gotten such a negative connotation in the wizarding world. 

“Excuse me,” Draco pushes off the tree, nudging a few people out of the way to get a clearer view of what’s going on. “What exactly are we supposed to be seeing?” 

“Thestrals,” Hagrid responds proudly, shooting the creatures a loving look. “Righ’, now, who can tell me why some o’ you can see them an’ some can’t?” 

Hermione’s hand shoots into the air, “The only people who can see Thestrals are people who have seen death.” 

“So how can you see them then, you’ve never – ” I jab my elbow hard into Draco’s ribs “ – Ouch!”

He turns to me with a hurt expression as I tug him a little away from the group, “Last year, Cedric.” 

“Oh,” his face softens, the grimace melting into a frown. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” I mumble back, scooting in closer to the other students again. I try not to think too much about what occurred last year. It's not so much that the death bothered me. I was just expecting more, this amazing reunion with the man I'd only ever heard fantastic and exhilarating stories about. I built up the moment too much, coming up with grand scenarios. What actually happened ended up being a bit of a letdown. 

Draco looks on in mute fascination. While I see a sleek, skeletal black horse with bat-like wings, all he’s probably able to see is flesh ripping away from bone and disappearing as the creature eats. Digging out my sketchbook, I begin to drag a piece of charcoal over the blank page, bringing the Thestral to life. 

“Look – ” I tilt the book so that Draco can see “ – I didn’t get the eyes quite right. They’re more hauntingly beautiful than what they look here.” 

I’ve always had a love for magical creatures, especially the misunderstood ones. Thestrals are amongst the most mystic of them all. Shrouded in deep legend and bad omens, many people shy away from studying them. Their behaviors are largely unknown to magical kind. Being able to stare into their misty white eyes makes me feel special, even with the circumstances it took to see them. 

Draco, used to my fascination with creatures, gives my drawing another once over, probably trying to see it the way I do, “Do they all look this sickly?” 

“They’re meant to look like that,” I chuckle lightly. “They aren’t sick.” Raising my hand I wait for Hagrid to spot me. “Can we touch them?” 

Hagrid, typically only used to Harry, Ron, and Hermione participating in classes stares blankly at me for a few seconds. In this time an atrocious pink blob has joined the class. I had been wondering when she’d show up. 

“Don’ see why not,” Hagrid finally answers. 

As Umbridge begins to question Hagrid, talking about how Thestrals are classified as dangerous by the Ministry, I slide through the group of students. Holding up a hand, I let the creature sniff at me. It blinks its haunting eyes at me, misty breath rising into the air. Smiling, I run my hand up along the Thestral’s boney face and down its neck, intertwining my fingers in its sleek black mane. Draco hovers by my side, staring at my hand that, to him, likely appears to be hanging in midair. 

“Trust me.” Slowly, I reach out for him, laying my hand over the top of his, “Don’t jump. You’ll scare it. Maybe close your eyes.”

Draco gives me a wary look as I move our hands closer to the creature’s neck, “Isabelle – ”

“Shh, relax.” 

As his eyes slip closed, I press his palm to the side of the Thestral’s neck. He gives a slight jump, “I feel it.” 

We stand quietly for a few minutes, the rest of the class falling away. The only sounds I hear are the steady breath of the Thestral. I only see Draco. After a few more minutes of this, his eyes flutter open. Keeping his hand against the creature’s neck, he digs into my bag, pulling out my sketchbook. He stares down at the picture for a while, “You really think they’re beautiful?” 

“There’s beauty in everything, Draco. You just have to be willing to look for it.”


	13. The Dark Mark

The Christmas Holidays sneak up on me. One second Draco and I are worrying about finishing Charms homework and the next my trunk is packed and being loaded onto the train. Keeping busy was probably for the best though. As I watch the countryside fly past us, the nerves settle in. I won’t be coming back to Hogwarts the same. I find it impossible to sit still, instead pacing back and forth through the small compartment, question after question bombarding my mind. Will it happen right away? Is he already going to be there when we get in? Who else is going to be there? 

On about my hundredth pass through, Draco reaches out, curling his fingers around my wrist, “Will you please sit down? You’re making me anxious.”

Lucius and Narcissa are waiting for us outside the station. Dressed in rich blacks and stunning greens they look very out of place amongst the muggles in their jeans and puffy jackets. Narcissa greets us both with a warm smile and welcoming hug. Lucius, in his typical poised manner, tilts his head, his stony expression remaining. 

While Draco walks ahead with his mother, filling her in on how his term went, his father holds me back, thin fingers curl around my shoulder. He whispers quietly to me, “Your father will be arriving on Monday. I suspect he will only be staying long enough to perform the ceremony.” His voice returns to normal as we slip down a deserted alley, dipping into a seemingly abandoned restaurant. “Draco tells me you two are going to Paris this year.” 

“Yes. I’m rather excited about it. Will you be joining us?” 

All along the walls are fireplaces, the flames crackling as they lick away at the logs inside. Various witches and wizards corral their own children together, tossing powered into the flames, turning them green. One by one they step into the flames, calling out their destinations, disappearing shortly after.

We queue up, Helix struggling in her basket to get at another boy’s rat, “Not this year. I’ve got some business to attend to. It’s a very busy time at the Ministry as you may know.” 

“We’re having work done on the sitting room fireplace, you’ll likely pop in in the dining room,” Narcissa says as Draco throws his own handful of Floo Powder into the now open fireplace. “I’ve laid down a rug.” 

In the blink of an eye, Draco is gone. I wait a few seconds before following suit. The flames lick at my legs, warm and inviting, “Malfoy Manor.” 

Shutting my eyes to keep out the ash, I spin through thin air, opening them again to see Draco offering me his hand. I’m just out of the way when Narcissa arrives, followed closely by Lucius. 

“We’ll call you for dinner.” 

And with that, we’re off. Leaving Helix to her own devices, I charge up the stairs after Draco, our footfalls echoing through the house. He pulls the door to his bedroom open, falling against the white comforter, sending pillows flying. Sitting back up, he reaches for me, pulling me back onto the bed next to him. 

“I’ve found this incredible chateau. It looks right out onto the ocean. There’s a balcony where we can have morning coffee – ” His smile fades. “You’re still nervous, aren’t you?” 

I roll onto my side, dusting my fingers over his forehead, moving away the hair there. I trace down over his temple, over his jawline, ending with my thumb on his bottom lip, “It all sounds wonderful, Draco.” 

“You can talk to me, Bell. Please.” There’s a broken plea there that I’ve never heard before. It sends my heart into my stomach. 

“What if he looks at me and decides he’s made a mistake, that I’m not actually as worthy as he thought?” 

Draco sits abruptly, leaning over me, cradling my face in his hands, “He won’t. You’re the smartest witch I know. You can do loads of things other people can only daydream about. You’ve infiltrated the other side, made Potter trust you. There’s no way he’ll think you aren’t worthy.” 

“But what if? I don’t ever want you to look at me differently, to think of me as someone the Dark Lord passed over.” 

At this, he rolls his eyes, “I could never look at you differently. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. To me, you’ll always be the girl who tripped in the Great Hall second year and spilled pumpkin juice all down my front and then ruined my robes trying to charm it away. You’re always going to be the girl I do stupid dances with, the girl whose earmuffs I fix in Herbology. You’re always going to be the girl that sat by my bed day and night in the Hospital Wing when that Hippogriff attacked me.” He hooks his finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re always going to be the girl I couldn’t help falling in love with. No matter what.” 

“Always?” 

Draco folds me into his chest, fingers running through my hair, “Until every star falls from the sky. Always.” 

We spend the rest of the weekend tromping across the grounds or chasing each other through the halls of the Manor. We laugh more than we have all year. Draco finds immense enjoyment in chasing me through the rows of rose bushes, snowball in hand or scooping me up and depositing me in the deepest snow bank he can find. 

I spent the better part of last night coming up with a way to get him back. I now stand in the middle of the path, a snowball held behind my back, my whole body shivering. Draco rounds the corner, the playful smile instantly falling from his face as he sees me. 

“You’re freezing.” 

Letting my teeth chatter together, I shake my head, dark hair hitting me in the face, “ ’m f-fine. Fine.” 

“Fine?” He draws closer, reaching out to brush a gloved thumb over my lips. “You’re purple.” 

As he continues to cup my face, I smash the snowball I’ve been hiding against his cheek. He lets out a gasp of surprise, his eyes growing wide. I stand rooted to the spot. 

“Ohhooho,” Draco’s teeth graze his bottom lip, eyes narrowing as he shakes his head slowly, “You’re in trouble now.” 

Letting out a shriek of laughter, I take off through the bushes, hearing Draco’s muffled steps behind me. 

We chase each other back into the house, stripping out of winter gear as we each try to get the jump on the other. Our laughter echoes through the Manor. 

“Draco?” I call through the halls, peeking around corners to try and get the chance to jump out at him before he can do the same to me. There’s movement up the hall, a tapestry hitting against smooth wood. “Where are you?”

“Got you,” whipping around, I see Draco, a single white rose held delicately between his thumb and index finger. He bows politely, offering me the flower. “It was the only white one in a sea of red. I thought of you.” 

~~~~~~~

“It appears you’ve mastered the element of fire.” His voice is cold, snakelike, gliding silently through the empty dining room. 

I keep my back to him, bouncing the little ball of fire I’ve produced between my hands, “I suppose.” 

“What news of the boy?” a chair appears to my left. He sits, fingers tented, chin resting delicately on the tips. 

As I extinguish the flames, I turn, blood-red eyes staring back at me; “He’s waging his own private war against that Ministry toad Fudge sent in. A defense squad of sorts. He’s teaching them Disarming Charms and Stunning Spells. You’ve been getting through to him. He’s been writing me these obnoxiously boring letters going on and on about how hard it is to be him. The last few have mentioned the door.” 

“And the other boy?” 

“Draco is doing fine.” 

“He did not wish to join you in your quest for power?” 

We’ve both put up a front. He wears a mask of fatherly curiosity and I wear my own of indifference. There is no fear though. While others cower at the Dark Lord’s feet I sit beside him, the closest thing to an equal he will ever know. I, perhaps unknowingly gifted with a pardon from fear, cannot be hurt. To harm me would be to harm himself. It is an unspoken understanding between us, a secret I alone share with Voldemort. And yet, it has created a wall, precariously built, threatening to crumble at the slightest of wrong movement. A wall that neither one of us is willing to mention, to try and work around. The power he's inadvertently given makes him uncomfortable, makes me dangerous to him. I can see it in the way he sits, fake comfortable with tension in his shoulders, in the way he looks at me, sideways, never fully in the eyes, as if I alone have the ability to send the whole kingdom burning to the ground. As I observe him, I realize just how precarious my position really is. 

“You’d have to take it up with Lucius as I do not make the decisions for the Malfoy’s.” 

Voldemort gives me a curt laugh. It sounds empty, soulless; “I will lure him to the Ministry. You must find a way there.” 

“Of course.” 

“He doesn’t suspect anything?” 

“The boy’s got his head shoved so far up his own arse I’m surprised he notices anything.” 

Another empty laugh, “You’ve always had such biting humor.” He runs the back of his hand over my cheek, leaving behind a burning trail over my skin. “Give me your arm.” 

White-hot pain shoots through me as the mark bubbles to life. The jet-black stands out in stark contrast to my snow-white forearm. As he runs his fingers over the image, whispering under his breath, the pain subsides to a dull ache. The skull and snake seem to be responding to his words, writhing on my skin like a pet greeting its master after a long time apart. He releases me and the mark settles, staring up at me, a badge of honor. 

“You are bound to me, to come when called, to serve me for as long as you shall live.” 

Looking up, I am once again greeted by glowing red, the hauntings of a smile now ghosting the Dark Lord’s thin lips, “For as long as I shall live.”


	14. Christmas in Paris

“Draco, sit still,” I whine, sliding my paintbrush over the canvas in front of me. “I’m almost done.” 

He shifts around; propping his elbows on his knees, chin resting on tented fingers. He gives me a playful pout, “I want to go flying again.” 

We arrived in Paris a week ago. Draco and I spend most of our days going through the little shops downtown or curled up in bed just talking. We discuss the future mostly, what we want to do as careers, getting a house together after school. We share secret fears about not living up to expectations. When we’re alone together, with no fear of being overheard, all walls come down. Keeping secrets from others is important, necessary. Keeping secrets from each other is not only unthinkable but also near impossible. Draco and I are able to read each other, sensing things, able to read the other almost perfectly. There’s safety when we’re wrapped up in each other’s arms that I don’t think either of us feels around anyone else. 

As the weather starts clearing up, the skies no longer dumping snow, the wind not an unforgivable icy knife, Draco insists we go out flying. There’s a little beach just up the coast, impossible to get to without a boat or, in our case, a broomstick. Draco takes me there for picnics. We sit around a small fire, wrapped in fur blankets sharing wine and cheese. 

“Just a little longer, please,” I poke my head around the canvas, fluttering my eyelashes at him. Draco’s a sucker for the puppy-dog face, he’ll hardly ever say no to it. “You never let me draw you.” 

He sighs, leaning back into his original position, arms outstretched over the back of the chair, his legs kicked lazily out in front of him, “Fine, but after we’re going flying.” 

“After we can fly until you’re frozen to your broom,” I laugh, adding a few more strokes of color just under his eyes. 

“Well, maybe if I didn’t have to keep lending you my coats,” he chuckles. Draco and I have been together long enough for him to expect my aesthetic over function fashion choices. 

Thirty minutes later, I set down my paintbrush. Draco’s form stares up at me, created in little strokes of color. Spinning the easel around so Draco can see the finished product, I wait for his reaction. He stares at the portrait for a while, tilting his head to the left and right, teeth working against his bottom lip. Draco usually enjoys the little pictures I draw for him. Typically they’re animals or nature scenes. I’ve never actually drawn anymore of Draco than his eyes. I worry that he won’t like this one. 

“I don’t look nearly that attractive,” he finally says. 

Swatting playfully at his arm, I roll my eyes, “Don’t pretend to be modest.” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “Is this really how you see me?” 

My cheeks burn red and I try to hide them behind a curtain of hair before Draco sees. He thinks it’s adorable that he’s still able to make me blush. I find it embarrassing. “You’re incredibly handsome, Draco, you must realize that.” 

“Well, I don’t think I’m unattractive, but this – ” his eyes scan over the painting again “ – this is much too generous.” 

I pull my wand out, prepared to wipe the canvas clean, “Do you not like it?” 

“No,” Draco’s hand curls over mine, the other coming to caress my cheek, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes are sparkling, a wide smile set on his lips. He dips down to kiss me. “I love it. Now – ” he gives my cheek a quick squeeze “ – let's go flying.” 

~~~~~

“So – ” I spin around showing off my outfit to Draco. “What do you think?” 

His eyes graze over the flowing button-up shirt, tucking into a pair of black shorts. I’ve topped the outfit off with one of his suit jackets and a pair of silver heels. Tonight is our three-year anniversary and Draco is taking me out somewhere fancy for dinner. He took great pride in telling me all about the reservations and dress code. 

Cracking a smile, Draco tips forward, his lips meeting my forehead, “I think there’s at least a foot of snow out there and shorts are hardly appropriate. But – ” he continues quickly, picking up on the slight pout I’ve painted on “ – you do look adorable so perhaps a warming charm or a vehicle instead of our originally planned walk.” 

“I’ll call for a cab,” I answer, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, careful not to leave behind a red lipstick stain. 

Having spent a few years living amongst muggles, I’m more comfortable using their inventions. Draco seems to detest the idea of relying on anything non-magical folks have created but doesn’t object. While he still whole-heartedly clings to the pure-blood superiority that he’s grown up with, I have been able to slide a few muggle things into his life; cars being one of those. I’m all for keeping magic in wizarding families only, but if the technology is there we might as well take full advantage of it. 

The cab driver seems thoroughly shocked at where we ask him to drop us off. He asks repeatedly if he’s heard the address correctly as we wind our way down cobbled streets. The builds grow increasingly lavish, crystal chandeliers visible through many of the glass-fronted shops and restaurants. There are fewer people on this side of town, but those that do wander up the decorated streets are dressed in lavish furs and expensive-looking jewelry. They all walk with an air of importance, of stature. 

“Do we look like we can’t afford where we’re going?” Draco snaps, his fingers curling into a fist as the driver once again asks if we’ve got the right address. 

He stumbles over his words, shooting a look at us in the rearview mirror, “I – it’s a very expensive part of town – you’re so young.” 

“Perhaps – ” I dig around in my velvet handbag, drawing out a few folded muggle bills “ – this will assure you.” 

As we come to a stop outside the restaurant Draco made reservations at, the driver looks down at the wad of money I turned over. His lips move, but no sound seems to be able to escape. Satisfied with his stunned silence, I wave my hand at the door, causing it to pop open. 

We’re greeted by a plump little man who largely resembles an overripe tomato in a tux. Once we’ve given him our names, he leads us through the main dining hall, gesturing to a curtain hanging over a doorway. He seems only half there, smiling and laughing more than necessary, leading me to believe a good bit of magic has been used on him. 

The room we step into is fully glass, providing an excellent view of the night sky and the beautifully illuminated Eiffel Tower. A witch in dazzlingly white robes greets us, her arms spread wide. A mane of shimmering silver hair floats behind her. “Master Malfoy, Mademoiselle Riddle, welcome! Theeze way.” 

Tucking my hand into the crook in Draco’s arm, I let him lead me to a table in the back. It looks like we might be only ones in here and I’m sure that’s not by accident. Draco takes our anniversaries very seriously. While neither of us knows the exact date we started dating, we decided Christmas Eve was suitable. Typically we exchange our presents on our anniversary, opening family gifts on Christmas. 

As food begins to appear on intricately decorated tableware, Draco digs into his pocket. He produces three boxes, one growing in size now that it’s set on the white tablecloth. He reaches across the table, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, “A very merry anniversary, my princess.” 

“You’ve spoiled me this year,” I comment, rummaging around in my bag for Draco’s gifts. 

He smirks, eyes flicking down to where the presents sit, “One gift for every year, I believe that is only appropriate.” 

“Open this one first,” I tape the middle box, failing horribly at stifling the laughter building up in my chest. 

Draco rolls his eyes, probably already guessing what it is. On our first Christmas, neither of us knew what to get the other. We ended up getting almost identical ties for each other. Now, five years later it’s become a sort of joke between the two of us. There’s always a tie for Christmas, though neither of us has worn any of them in years. The blatant green and silver is a little too in your face for our tastes now. 

Along with the tie, I’ve given Draco a box of assorted liquor chocolates, a broom maintenance kit, and cufflinks with the Malfoy crest on them. He’s gifted me a matching tie, more nougat, a pair of diamond studs, and leather jacket the back embroidered with a snake and flowers. I immediately change out of the suit jacket, running my fingers along the soft, pre-worn in leather. 

All through dinner I notice more and more tables disappearing, instruments appearing in the corner of the room. Arching an eyebrow, I look over at Draco, “What are you planning?” 

He offers a smirk, sliding another bite of pasta between his lips so as to avoid answering the question. He’s such a sneak. 

Once the dishes have been cleared away, Draco stands, offering me his hand. He leads me out into the middle of the room as the instruments begin to play themselves. We hold each other, turning in small circles. I let my head rest on Draco’s shoulder, staring up at him. He smiles down at me, humming along to the melody. The lights twinkle in his eyes and, just like every day for the last three years, I find myself falling even more in love with him. With the incredibly strong man he’s becoming, with how much he cares for me, with how thoughtful he is. He lets me be me, accepts my quirks and odd tastes. He’s everything I could dream of and so much more. 

“I love you, Draco Malfoy.” 

He grins, pressing his lips to mine, “I love you, Isabelle Riddle.” 

These last few weeks alone with Draco have been beyond words. We’ve grown even closer, further established an unspoken understanding, another level of trust now bouncing between us. I wish it never had to end. As we board the train back to Hogwarts I smile over at Draco. He tilts his head to rest it on top of mine. With my hand in his, I’ve got everything I could ever need.


	15. Occlumency

“Er – Isabelle, Snape is your head of house. How well do you know him?” Harry asks, sliding into the seat next to mine in the library. 

Since returning to Hogwarts, I’ve not seen much of Harry. The teachers continue to pile on the homework, insisting we need as much practice as possible in order to pass out O.W.Ls. I’ve spent almost all my time outside of classes in the Slytherin common room, Draco and I pouring over books, doing what we can to help each other through the trenches. 

Marking my spot in the book I’ve been flipping through, I look up at Harry, “Quite well, actually. I lived with him for a period of time, before I started here.” 

Ron, who is sitting across from me, lets out a disapproving grunt, “You lived with him?” 

“He’s rather funny if you understand his brand of humor.” 

Ron screws up his face in a look of disgust, his tongue sticking out, “He’s loathsome.” 

“You will please not speak that way about Severus around me,” I shoot back before turning my attention once again to Harry. “Apart from being a teacher, he is a dear friend of mine. Why the sudden interest in Snape?” 

Harry sighs, making a point to avoid Hermione’s cold stare. Whatever it is, she clearly disagrees with him sharing the information with me, “Dumbledore’s got me doing Occlumency lessons with him.” 

“Occlumency? Why?” 

Leaning in closer to me, Harry drops his voice down to barely a whisper; “You got my letter, right? About Mr. Weasley?” He waits for me to nod before continuing on. “From what Snape told me, Dumbledore reckons those dreams I’ve been having are me seeing his thoughts. He wants me to be able to block it out.” 

“When are you starting these?” 

Voldemort finds this connection between Harry and him most useful. I’m hoping Harry isn’t any good at the art. A large part of the Dark Lord’s plan has to do with being able to feed Harry information, make him feel like he knows what Voldemort is planning. Dumbledore’s tampering isn’t going to be well received. 

“I’ve already had my first one.” 

“How’d it go?” I question, trying to keep my tone casual. 

“Ouch, Hermione! You didn’t need to do that.” Harry shoots Hermione a hurt look, rubbing at his ribcage. “It was pretty dismal. He didn’t seem keen to help me at all. Just kept making fun of me for being bad at it.” 

I think of Draco’s almost innate ability to keep people out of his head, of how far both of us have come with both Occlumency and Legilimens. I scratch at my nose, trying to hide my satisfied smirk behind my hand, “Well, I’ve heard it’s really hard to master.” 

Hermione lets out a snort, shaking her head. 

“Something you’d like to share with the group?” I ask, sliding a stony glare over at her. 

“I just think it’s convenient. Harry starts Occlumency and you’ve just happened to hear about it before.” 

I roll my eyes, chuckling lightly, “Didn’t I just say I lived with Snape, that he’s a friend? Do you think, in the three years I was with him, that maybe we talked about some of his special skill sets, Occlumency, for example?” 

Harry and Ron exchange looks, Ron pulling at the collar of his shirt as if to indicate it’s gotten too hot in the room. Hermione frowns at me, bushy eyebrows drawn together, “I suppose.” 

“When’s your next lesson?” Ron asks Harry after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence in which Hermione refuses to break my stare. 

“Every Monday night. I’m supposed to tell people I’m taking Remedial Potions.” 

I try and disguise my laughter as a sudden coughing fit. But no one is paying attention, Harry’s already jumped into his next thought. He goes on about something he remembered during Occlumency. 

“So – ” Ron starts once Harry has finished his explanation “ – so are you saying that the weapon You-Know-Who’s after is in the Ministry of Magic?” 

Harry nods, “In the Department of Mysteries, it’s got to be. I saw that door when your dad took me down to the courtrooms for my hearing and it’s definitely the same one he was guarding when the snake bit him.” 

I have to admit, Harry is smarter than I originally gave him credit for. Since he first told me about the dreams, I’ve been waiting for this realization to settle in. It took a shorter amount of time than I was expecting, though I wonder if he would’ve come to this conclusion without the little nudge from Snape’s intrusion into his memories. 

“Of course,” Hermione lets out as if all the pieces of a puzzle have finally come together.

Ron raises an eyebrow, “Of course what?” 

“Ron, think about it,” Hermione huffs, “Sturgis Podmore was trying to get through a door at the Ministry of Magic. It must have been that one, it’s too much of a coincidence!” 

“How come Sturgis was trying to break in when he’s on our side?” 

Hermione shrugs, shooting me another wary look, “Well, I don’t know.” 

“He could have been under the influence of the Imperius Curse,” I offer up the most logical explanation. The easiest way to get someone to do what you want is by force. I learned that at a dangerously young age. 

Harry shrugs, “Maybe. What’s in the Department of Mysteries, Ron? Has your dad ever mentioned anything about it?” 

Ron flushes, “I know they call the people who work in there ‘Unspeakables’ because no one really seems to know what they do in there. Weird place to have a weapon.” 

“It’s not weird at all, it makes perfect sense,” Hermione articulates, with a matter-of-fact nod. “It will be something top secret that the Ministry has been developing, I expect.” She turns to Harry, giving him a questioning look as he rubs at his forehead. “Harry, are you sure you’re all right?” 

Harry, who seems to not have realized what he is doing, lowers his hand; it’s trembling, “Yeah, fine. I just feel a bit –” he shakes his head. 

“Why don’t we go back to the common room,” Hermione suggests, already beginning to back up her things. “We’ll be more comfortable there.” 

The others nod, Ron shutting his book with more force than necessary, “Wanna come too, Isabelle?” 

“Oh, no,” I answer back with a smile, highly aware of Hermione shooting daggers at me. “I promised Draco we’d practice silencing charms.” 

~~~~~  
Helix lies in the spot between Draco and me, allowing me to bury my fingers in her soft fur. She purrs gently, flexing her toes as she cuddles down further. Draco plays with my fingers, his legs tangled up with mine. We spent the last half hour trying to invade the other’s thoughts and decided a nap was much deserved. 

“I need you to double down on aggravating Harry,” I announce, breaking the comfortable silence. 

Draco chuckles, brushing a few strands of hair away from my face, “And why is that?” 

I relay the information Harry shared in the library, explaining why I need him to keep Harry in a constant state of agitation. Strong emotions seem to have a negative effect on one’s ability to close their mind off. The more angry and frustrated Harry is, the less likely it will be he’s able to accomplish Occlumency. Not only will this get him in trouble with Snape, something I find hilarious, but it will allow the Dark Lord to keep feeding Harry information. The more Harry sees the more his natural curiosity will set in. It’s no secret that he’s got a hero complex. He can’t pass up an opportunity to come out on top, to prove himself. We just need to be sure he’s presented with such an opportunity. 

“But doesn’t that mean Harry could be getting information he’s not supposed to see?” 

I shrug, “I think the Dark Lord has a way of preventing that. Remember, Harry doesn’t really go searching out these visions, he’s just receiving them.” 

“So he was supposed to see what happened to Weaselbee’s dad?” 

“He doesn’t tell me everything, Draco. Maybe he was setting up for something else.” 

Draco rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, “Do you think he’ll let me become like you?” 

“Oh -” I roll towards him, running my finger along his cheek “ – you’ll be amongst his most honored members; willing and cunning and ingenious. Oh yes, he wants you. He asked about you over Christmas. Together we’ll be his most feared, most loyal followers.” 

I receive a smile, Draco’s eyes lighting with excitement, “You flatter me.” 

“Only because you deserve it.” 

“Deserve it?” Draco scoffs, in one swift movement he’s hovering over me, his fingers curled around the side of my neck, his lips trailing along the shell of my ear. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you were special. You had this quiet power. I become obsessed with the way you could command a room, how you could silence people with just a look. If anyone deserves flattery it’s you. The dark princess.” 

Reaching up, I cup his face in my hand, running my thumb over his cheekbone, “And you will be my prince and those unwilling to follow will know our wrath.” 

“Does your father know you mean to dethrone him?” 

“Dethrone him? I’m not foolish, Draco,” I chuckle at his ideas. “No, we will conquer together, as equals, two parts of a whole.” 

He pauses for a second, studying my face, “Of course. Together.” 

“Always together, for as long as we shall live.”


	16. Only for You

I smile down at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ the next morning at breakfast. While the news seems to spark nervous whispers between my classmates, I feel nothing but joy. The world is changing and I’ve got a front seat, a place of revere in the coming tide. Finally, I feel as if I’m doing what I’ve been destined to do. It’s all happening and the Minister is still insisting on blaming Sirius. As if he could’ve blown the whole side of Azkaban out while fighting off the Dementors Fudge insists are still under his control.

I’m sure Sirius will be in a right state. From our few conversations, Sirius seems even more miserable being cooped up in the house. He explains that the rest of the Order have been out doing whatever it is they’re doing, which leaves him alone with Kreacher. Apparently he’s had a few good screaming matches with Mundungus, but other than that it’s quiet. I feed him little bits about Harry and what Umbridge is doing, pretty much offering anything that will keep him away from the topic of where I was during Christmas. Like Hermione, Sirius is too suspicious for his own good. He didn’t like my short answer and keeps poking for details.

“It looks like Auntie Bella is taking a little vacation from the nuthouse,” I grin down at the picture of a hollow faced witch with wild eyes and jet-black curls now touched with strands of grey. She snarls back at me, pulling against the chains that hold her to thick-looking stonewalls.

Draco takes the paper from me, scanning over the names of other Death Eaters that escaped from Azkaban last night, “That’s Bellatrix? She looks nothing like mother’s described.”

“Well, I’m sure she was prettier before Azkaban,” I offer back with a shrug, flipping through the rest of the paper. On the third page, the _Prophet_ reports about a death at St. Mungos. “Honestly, don’t they screen their patents presents?”

My boyfriend leans in closer, reading over my shoulder, “Devil’s Snare? Didn’t we study that first year? How’d they miss that?”

“Yeah, it was mentioned,” I scan further through the article. “It looks like the Ministry isn’t the only one giving shoddy explanations. St. Mungos is trying to claim it was accidental, looked over in the Christmas bustle.”

Draco settles back in his seat, “I wonder if father knows anything. Fudge and him are quite close.”

“You should write him. I’m curious if this thing at St. Mungos has anything to do with the attempted break-in at the Ministry.”

The story of the escape from Azkaban seems to be the only thing anyone wants to talk about. Groups of people walk, their heads titled together, whispering about it in the corridors, before classes start. As is typical of Hogwarts, rumors start spreading. Some say the Death Eaters are hiding out in Hogsmeade, others claim they’ve infiltrated the Ministry and even Hogwarts. The teachers do very little to squash any of this. Even they seem to be discussing it, groups of two or three of them whispering in the hallways, quickly going quiet when students walk by. We’re simply told that Hogwarts is the safest place for us to be and that we should be focusing on our upcoming O.W.Ls.

I’m sure this is partly because of the new Ministry decree that Umbridge has taken the liberty of posting all over the school. This one prohibits teachers from discussing anything but their subjects with students. This decree sparked quite a few jokes amongst people, mostly about how Umbridge was breaking her own rule by reprimanding students. Not pleased with these, Umbridge seems to be issuing more and more detentions. In an attempt to avoid the torturous quill, I refrain from sharing my own opinions though they align with what’s being said. For now, Umbridge isn’t my main concern. I’ve got to put all my efforts into Harry, who seems to be complaining more and more about his dreams and his scar hurting since he started Occlumency.

Harry sees the escape of the Death Eaters as a reason to increase the number of D.A. meetings we have. Once a week, in pairs of twos and threes, members tromp up to the seventh floor. We’ve moved on from simple Stunning Spells and Harry is now trying to teach everyone the Shield Charm. Not surprisingly, the news of the escape from Azkaban has lit a fire under Neville. Once timid and apprehensive, he throws himself into lessons, learning quickly and performing jinxes and countercurses with admirable gusto. Ron, Harry, Hermione, and I meet up in the library almost every night to discuss what should be taught next. Typically, Harry’s friends pretty much leave these decisions to him and I. It’s only when Harry suggests that we teach everyone how to fight the Imperius Curse that Hermione begins to monitor our discussions a little closer. While Harry and I have no problem performing the curse, we’re both pretty sure the Room of Requirement is unmappable and thus no one would actually know we’ve performed it, Hermione was appalled. She forbid Harry to do any such magic and, after a bit of grumbling, he agreed.

“What’s this?” Draco picks up the trick Galleon Hermione handed out to everyone in D.A, making it bounce between his fingers.

“It’s for that club I’m in with Harry. He uses them to tell us when we’re going to have meetings,” I take it from him, running my finger along the top where the serial number would usually be. “These change and the coin gets really hot whenever Harry sets a date.”

“Who came up with it?”

“Hermione.”

“Where’d she get the idea from?”

I tap my wand against my left forearm through my shirtsleeve, “Now, are we going to Hogsmeade or would you like to keep asking me questions all day?”

“You underestimate my ability to do two things at once,” Draco retorts with a smile, throwing his arm around my shoulders as we exit the common room heading towards the front doors.

“And you,” I dig my fingers into Draco’s ribs, giving him a smirk. He jerks away, trying to avoid further tickling. “Overestimate my patience, even with you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

I look at him from under my eyelashes, arching an eyebrow, “Weren’t you the one saying I was unhinged last night?”

“I _believe_ the word I used was wicked,” Draco answers, “And I meant it as a compliment. I’ve been waiting for you to hex Pansy all year. I admire your twisted ways.”

Scoffing, I stop walking, turning to Draco, “Is that fear I sense, Mr. Malfoy?”

He tips forward, his lips brushing my ear, “Only an idiot wouldn’t be afraid of you.”

“Smart man,” I answer with a playful wink, “Now, where are you taking me. It’s Valentine's Day, after all, I’m expecting magic and fireworks.”

“Well – ” Draco pulls his wand out, pointing it at the sky, “ – if it’s fireworks you’re after – ” A stream of pink light shoots from the end of his wand, erupting into dozens of small hearts.

A few girls walking behind us let out sighs of admiration, some even nudging the boys they’re with, blatantly pointing. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip; beaming over at Draco, my cheeks burning. “Show off.”

“Damn right,” He slides his arm around my waist, resuming out walk towards Hogsmeade. “I’ve been perfecting that one since Christmas.”

The spell is just the beginning. Draco dotes on me all day, producing little presents here and there; talking about some big surprise he’s got back at the castle. When we first started dating I wished more people got to see this side of him. Draco can be incredibly sweet and thoughtful, going above and beyond my wildest expectations. Now that we’ve been together for three years, I’ve changed my mind. I get to see this side of Draco because I’m special because he loves and cares for me. I’ve become a bit possessive of the real Draco. The idea of him doing this for anyone else, of him opening up to anyone else in the way he has with me makes my stomach churn.

Crabbe and Goyle are standing outside the common room when Draco and I return from Hogsmeade later that day. They give him a nod, throwing their arms out as a few other students try and follow us in, “Common rooms closed. Pipe burst. Prefects only.”

I hardly hear the groans of protest, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. Above us floats at least a hundred paper swans. Each one has been enchanted to glow a soft pink, “You did all this?”

“I might’ve had a bit of help,” Draco shrugs, leading us over to the couch in front of the fire. “They’re all the letters you’ve ever sent me since first year.”

My eyes stay fixed on the paper swans, “You kept them all?”

“Yeah. Your Transfiguration notes are up there somewhere, the ones you took for while I was in the Hospital Wing.”

I curl against his side, wrapping my arms around him, “You’re something else, Draco Malfoy.”

“Only for you,” he mumbles, burying his face in my hair, lips pressing against the top of my head. “Only for you.”


	17. In the Room Where She Can't Follow

The next morning at breakfast, a letter arrives. Now, typically this wouldn’t be strange, I get letters all the time from the Malfoys, but this – this is anything but typical. To start, the owl is not one I recognize. A tiny puffball of a thing with feathers sticking up at odd angles and a pointed little beak that nips at me as I try to untie the letter from its foot. The envelope is completely blank aside from my name, inked on as if by something completely inhuman, all letters even and completely the same size, each _E_ formed exactly the same way, the _L_ s so straight they could’ve been stamped. The most peculiar of all, as I unfold the parchment is that it’s smeared in ink, what appears to be a paw print the only bit of off-white still visible. Staring down at the sheet, I flip it over a few times; convinced I’ve missed something.

“Who sent it?” Draco questions after I’ve shown it to him.

Shrugging, I hand over the envelope; “There’s no address anywhere on it.”

“Maybe it was delivered to the wrong person.” He’s grasping at straws here. There are no other Isabelle Riddles that I know of. In fact, I’m quite positive Voldemort saw to the end of that bloodline himself.

I spend the first half of the day walking dream-like through the halls, my thoughts focused on the letter. I manage to blow up a trinket box we’re meant to have dancing in Charms and burn a hole through the bottom of my cauldron in Potions. Severus suggested I go to the hospital wing. Instead, I find myself standing outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, wondering what will happen if I try and slip in while someone is coming out. Thankfully, I never have the chance to figure out, the person I want to talk to rounding the corner.

“Harry.”

He stares back at me, his mouth hanging open as the thought he was about to share with Ron disappears, “Er – Isabelle. Is something wrong?”

“Can I talk to you – ” I shoot a look at Ron. It isn’t that I care if Ron hears the idea I’ve got, but this feels more like a personal matter “ – alone?”

Harry glances over at Ron, who lifts his arms in the air as a sign of surrender, mumbling the password before slipping into the Gryffindor common room, which looks rather inviting from the quick glimpse I’m able to get. Lots of red and worn leather.

“I got this letter today,” I explain as I lead us towards a bench situated in a cut out just down the hall. “I think it’s from your Godfather.”

Producing the letter I watch the same confused look I wore earlier spread over Harry’s face as he too flips the parchment over a few times, “I didn’t get a letter.”

“Maybe it’s Order business?”

Harry glances down at the smudge parchment again, “But it doesn’t say anything, just a print. If he wants to send you a message this is a pretty odd way to do it.”

“I thought maybe it was charmed, you know, cause Umbridge is reading everyone’s mail. But I’ve tried everything I know and there’s nothing. No hidden message under the ink. No invisible writing. No weird letter-shaped empty spots.”

I’m uncomfortably aware that Harry is now staring at my thumb, where a single silver band sits. Slowly, trying not to set off the temper that’s only growing worse, I hide my hand from his view.

“Maybe he just wanted to let you know he was thinking of you. Hoped you’re doing okay, getting through all the studying.” The words are biting, their double meaning not hidden very well.

Here Sirius is, Harry’s only living family, writing me. Giving me some kind of screwy diluted message and leaving Harry with nothing. I get the bitterness, but I also didn’t ask for this. I didn’t go seeking out a letter. _But you did._ The little sneering voice in the back of my head rears its head. _You took up all of Sirius’ time this summer. You’re the one he staid holed up in his room with. You’re the one he paid attention to._

Shifting uncomfortably, I stash the letter back inside my bag, “If I find anything else out, I’ll let you know.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want.”

The words I’m sorry sit on the tip of my tongue, pushing against my teeth, willing me to let them pass. I swallow them down. Because I’m not actually sorry. Harry could have sought Sirius out, could have asked to spend more time with him, but he didn’t. Instead, Harry went off with Ron and Hermione. Flirted with Ginny. Laughed with Fred and George. If Sirius wrote me, wanted to tell me something, it’s not my fault.

By the end of the day, my head hurts from mulling over the stupid letter. I wish he hasn’t sent it or at least sent it to someone else. I’ve got other things to think about, to spend my time worrying about. I don’t need this to top it all off. Frustrated, I cast the note and the envelope into the fire, watching the flames slowly lick at the paper, dissolving it into an ashy, black mess.

“Tonight at seven. In the room where she can’t follow.” A croaking voice creeps through the empty common room.

The grin comes naturally. He knew. He knew I’d get frustrated. He knew burying the blasted thing at the bottom of my trunk and trying to forget about it wouldn’t ease my mind. Sirius once told me I was about as easy to read as a book with soggy pages. I guess he found himself a way to dry it out.

Glancing at the clock, I rise with a jump. Six fifty. Just enough time to get to the place I think he’s talking about if I run that is. Hoping luck is on my side, I dash from the common room, flying up staircases, pushing a few unsuspecting Hufflepuffs out of my way. The chimes of the clock ring through the castle as the door slides into view. The room that I’ve grown accustomed to is gone. Instead, there is a single chair with a low back and a comfortable looking blanket draped over the arm. Directly in front of it is a fireplace, the logs already crackling. The fire inside is a lilac purple, emitting sweet-smelling fumes that permeate the whole room.

“Sirius?”

There’s a sputtering from the fire, the top of a head pushing through the logs followed by a forehead, a sunken set of eyes, and a tattooed over neck. Sirius was the first person I told about my moon tattoo. He thought the idea was thrilling, if not a bit girly. He insisted on taking me to get another once his name is cleared. One of those creatures you like, he’d suggested, maybe a dragon or hippogriff.

“Oh good, you figured out my message. Had to do it that way, with the mail checks and everything.”

“You’re lucky I like fire,” I answer back with a grin, pulling the blanket off the chair as I position myself on the floor as close to the flames as I dare.

Sirius gives me a wink, tapping a finger to his temple, “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

“You’re sure this is safe?”

“Nothing is ever a hundred percent safe, but my chances of getting found out are very low. I’ve had Kreacher popping in and out of here all week.”

“I bet he was thrilled.”

This gets a chuckle, “I gave him a bit more of the rubbish he likes, seemed to soften him up to the idea.”

“You shouldn’t send him out on too many little side trips, Sirius. Auntie Bella is back in town.”

Bellatrix was always Kreacher’s favorite. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out, not with him hoarding all her pictures and mumbling about her under his breath. The elf might have been passed along to Sirius after his mother died, but I’m almost positive the elf has never been completely loyal. He’d prefer to be with Bellatrix. I’d be surprised if he hadn’t tried to abandon his position and join her the second he got wind her stint in Azkaban ended early.

“He wouldn’t know where to find her.”

“He’s much more clever than you give him credit for.”

Sirius frowns, “I don’t want to talk about him. How’s Hogwarts. Haven’t gotten yourself tied up in any more detentions have you?”

“No. I’m leaving those to your Godson for now.”

This gets another frown, Sirius looking off to his left, refusing to catch my eye, “How is Harry?”

“Reoccurring nightmares, raging temper, Occlumency with Snape, plus whatever stress he’s under because of O.W.Ls,” I shrug. “The Gryffindor Quidditch team is doing alright though and he’s not been entered into any tournaments or had any secrete chambers open lately so I guess that balances everything out. If I had to take a guess I’d say he’s doing fantastic.”

“Don’t guilt-trip me, Isabelle.”

“No one’s tripping anyone. How’re things on the home front? Learned to use the oven yet?”

This gets a laugh, whatever tension that has built up between us melting away with the twinkle in Sirius’ eyes, “This house hates me. Molly can bake pies all day and they turn out fine. I try one time and the whole kitchen catches fire.”

“Maybe you’re just a shit cook,” I suggest giving him a playful grin, wishing more than anything he was actually here. That I could hug him. Could see the color rise to his cheeks when I make a particularly good snipe back. That we could curl up against Buckbeak’s side and point out constellations to each other. Sirius and I may not be related by blood, but I never thought that mattered much anyway. He was the one person in the Order willing to look past who I was, whose eyes didn’t judgingly follow wherever I went. In the months we spent together he became my friend, someone I could really talk to even if we didn’t always like what the other was saying.

“How are you doing, Isabelle? Really?”

Curling my knees up to my chest, I rest my chin on them, “Sometimes I feel like I’m splitting in two. One person around Harry and his friends, another when I’m alone. And don’t go blaming any of that on Draco – ” I rush out, seeing Sirius is about to say something “ – he’s been very good to me. Understanding. Gentle. He took me to Paris for Christmas and learned a spell for heart-shaped fireworks that made me blush like a child. I just – I saw they way they all looked at me this summer. None of them trust me. Molly went all flush anytime I was alone in a room with her. Even Remus – ” I trail off, staring at the ground.

That one hurt the most. I expected it from the others, but not from him. Not the man who gave me a passion for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not the man who let me sit in his office and watch the Grindylow he kept in the tank. Not him. He knew who I was the second I stepped into his classroom and yet he greeted me with a kind smile. He offered me chocolate and warm cups of tea on nights I couldn’t sleep and felt like the whole world would fall in on me. I never expected him to change.

“I’m not making excuses – ” Sirius starts, letting me know that he is indeed making excuses I’m just not supposed to take offense to them. These are his friends we’re talking about. “They don’t know how to talk about what’s happening without addressing the obvious. Your father is back and you’re standing on a side that is firmly against him. No one wants to look at a child and tell them they hope their father dies, even if that father happens to be Voldemort himself. Don’t blame, Remus. Don’t blame any of them for that matter. It’s a difficult situation.”

“Yeah, but not for them,” I shoot back, feeling the first fires of temper licking away at my insides. “Their father didn’t kill people. Their father isn’t the most feared dark wizard of the time. Their father didn’t abandon them and leave them to jump from family to family because everyone was either too eager or too scared. Their father –“

But I can’t get any more out. The anger has turned to a bottomless pit of numbness. It’d be different if it all weren’t true. I respect my father, look up to him, am proud of who I am, but that doesn’t change anything. That doesn’t change the fact that he was never really a dad, still isn’t a dad. I’m a side character in his master plans, there when he wants me and invisible when he doesn’t. I know he’s got important work to do, time-consuming, impressive beyond belief work, but acknowledgment every once in a while couldn’t hurt. A good job or an I’m proud of you. Those never came from the Dark Lord so I began expecting them from others. To be given stern talks and wary side-glances instead just feels like another slap in the face.

“You’re right. Their fathers are not your father. I wouldn’t wish your situation on anyone,” Sirius gives me a sad smile. “But I know you and if anyone has the strength to walk through it, it’s you. Your father has thrown you into a den of wolves. It’s up to you to show him you can become the leader.”

“Sirius,” I let his name hang in the silence, waiting for him to say something, to inquire. He doesn’t. Sirius is good at this game. He can sit for hours in silence waiting for me to finally say what I need to. It’s both comforting and unnerving. “If you were asked to do something, something that might not be bad but might not be good either by someone with a lot of power, a lot of influence, would you do it?”

“What have you been asked to do?”

“Nothing,” I force out, trying to sound casual as if we’re just talking about the weather or a mildly mundane news story. “Just hypothetically.”

“If you’re in trouble, the Order can help you. _I_ can help you, Isabelle. Whatever it is.”

I muster up the best smile I can, shaking my head, “I’m not in any kind of trouble.”

“If you were, you’d tell me, right? Let me help you?”

The real answer is no. Not because I think Sirius would jump down my throat or cast me aside. Quite honestly, I think he’d call it a rash decision and then begin tossing together some haphazard plan to fix things that would ultimately go awry and lead to a bunch of other people having to rush in and save us. I just don’t want him risking his life. We might be on opposite sides here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. The splitting in two. I’m not supposed to care. Sirius, Harry, Remus, they’re all just insignificant smudges on an ever-growing to-do list. They shouldn’t matter. But they do.

Instead, I lie. Maybe for myself, maybe for Sirius, “Of course. I’d never deprive you of a badarse rescue mission. Even if it is just cleaning pudding off my shirt sleeve.”

“You’re too strong for your own good,” Sirius sighs, shaking his head. “You don’t have to bear it all. You’re not alone.”

I manage a grin, hoping the tears welling up in my eyes can’t be seen through the smokescreen now filling the room as the fire dies down, “Of course not. I’ve got a dog and a hippogriff and a werewolf. I should start my own circus.”

“Don’t joke,” Sirius chides, but the smile he gives me lets me know he understands it’s all in good fun. “We are all here for you. We all care, even Snivellus, which is a miracle cause we all know he basically only cares about himself. Maybe you are a witch after all.”

Laughing, I shake my head, once again getting that homesick feeling in the pit of my stomach, a longing for a different time, “Me? A witch. Nonsense. You’re talking crazy.”

“I’ve got to go. You take care of yourself, Isabelle. Keep that Malfoy boy in line.”

I long to throw myself through the fire, but settle instead for pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, “I will. You take care of yourself too, Sirius. Get better at baking pies and maybe I’ll come visit over the summer.”

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” but his face has already disappeared, the last of the embers glowing up at me. A sad, melancholy kind of purple.


	18. Someone Looking Out

“Would you pass the – ” 

A shrieking scream cuts through the babble in the Great Hall. Silence falls, people looking to the open doors, a few people daring to ask what’s going on. As if following some kind of unspoken instructions, everyone stands, beginning to file out into the Entrance Hall half-eaten tarts and puddings left abandoned. 

Draco shoves a few kids out of the way, getting us a spot right at the front. A trembling Professor Trelawney stands in the middle of the hall. She totters on her heels, a partially empty bottle of Sherry clutched in her hand. Tears stream down her thin cheeks as she sets bloodshot eyes on a figure hovering just up the stairs.

“No! No! This cannot be happening. It cannot. I refuse to accept it!” 

Cold metal hits my palm. Looking down I see a few shining Galleons sitting there. With everything else going on, I’d almost forgotten about the bet I made with Draco. Ten Galleons if Trelawney gets sacked first. Maybe I’m not as bad at Divination as I thought. 

“You didn’t realize this was coming?” Umbridge lets out a scoff, stepping down so I’m able to see her. She’s holding her head high, hands resting on her hips. Her voice fills the hall, bearing a new tone of self-importance. “Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow’s weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?” 

Trelawney’s bottom lip trembles, her eyes now set on the tatty trunks at her feet, “You c-can’t! You c-can’t sack me! I’ve b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!” 

She’s hiccupping terribly, knees shaking so bad I’m surprised she hasn’t collapsed yet. A few students are shooting looks at each other, as if daring someone to step forward, to stand up for the teacher. No one takes up the challenge. We all knew Umbridge had the power to sack professors, but it was just a threat, something to scare teachers into complying with Ministry policy. She was never actually going to do it. Now, seeing it, having it actually happening, renders everyone speechless. This is above anything students can handle. 

“It was your home until an hour ago when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us.” Umbridge circles Trelawney like a snake about to strike at its prey, her eyes hungry, that same cruel smile from my detention sitting on her lips. 

Professor McGonagall, who has been watching on the sidelines, now breaks away from the crowd. She gathers Professor Trelawney in her arms. She comforts the other teacher in a quiet voice. Once Trelawney has stopped letting out heaving sobs, McGonagall turns a stony glare to Umbridge, “You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts.” 

“Oh really, Professor McGonagall?” Umbridge questions, her tone like nails against a chalkboard. Even as she gathers herself to her full height she looks unimpressive in comparison to Professor McGonagall. “And your authority for that statement is?” 

The doors at the end of the hall fly open. Shadowed against the setting sun, Dumbledore strides through the hall, students moving aside to create a path for him. “That would be mine.” 

“Yours, Professor Dumbledore? I’m afraid you do not understand the position. I have here – ” Umbridge searches around in her robes, producing an official-looking piece of paper which she holds up so the headmaster can see “– an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she, meaning I, feels is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.” 

I always thought seeing Trelawney sacked would feel like a triumph. She’s a terrible teacher and her subject is mostly based on guesswork and saying things with enough conviction that people believe you. The feelings bubbling up inside me are not what I was expecting. Instead of being happy, elated to see such a crap teacher go, I just feel kind of gross. Divination might be rubbish, but that devilish smile, the glint of power in Umbridge’s eyes is just vile. She loves this, lives for the little power boost her job gives her. Even I, who enjoys using wit and skill to cut through the rest, can’t enjoy this. Sick disgust fills my stomach. In an attempt to quell it, I slide the Galleons Draco gave me back into the pocket of his robes. 

“You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge.” Dumbledore maintains a confident aura, even daring to smile a little. Even I have to admit that his calm, collectedness is quite impressive. “As High Inquisitor, you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. That power still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continues to live at Hogwarts.” 

Dumbledore leans down, picking up Trelawney’s trunk, smiling over at McGonagall who still has a comforting arm around Trelawney, “Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?” 

Umbridge stares, open-mouthed, at Dumbledore, her eyes wide as saucers as Trelawney and McGonagall begin to move up the stairs, “Yes that power still remains with you…for now.” 

I avoid Draco for the rest of the night, opting for an early night. Sleep doesn’t come easy though. I lay awake, tossing and turning, trying to run that arrogant look of power set on Umbridge’s face from my mind. My stomach hurts too much for breakfast the next morning and as I get dressed for classes, I debate skiving off and going to the Hospital Wing. I don’t want to see the look in Draco’s eyes. He’s on Umbridge’s side in this; Trelawney wasn’t living up to expectations, she deserved to get sacked. He’s likely to see my hesitation to celebrate with everyone else as weakness, as caring too much, as going soft. 

In the end, curiosity about who is going to be our new Divination teacher wins out. I let myself be pushed along the main hall by a stream of students trying to get to class. 

Whatever I was expecting, this is not it. The first-floor classroom has been enchanted to look like a forest. Trees line the walls, soft mossy grass growing over the floor. Stars spot the dark ceiling, finishing off the illusion. In the middle of all this is a centaur. His tail swishes back and forth as students file through the door. There’s a look of gentle peace in his eyes, softness I wasn’t aware centaurs possessed. 

Taking a seat in the back corner, I lean against one of the trees, hoping it’s dark enough that I won’t be spotted. As the last few stragglers slide through the door, I sense a presence on my left. Glancing over, I see an upturned hand lying in the empty space beside me. Following the robed arm up, my eyes finally settle on a pair of icy grey ones. Draco offers a small smile, scooting his hand even closer to me. 

“Talk to me.” 

I curl my fingers between Draco’s, the two of us settling against the moss-covered floor as Firenze, our new teacher, begins explaining the lesson, “You think I’m weak.” 

“I think you had a good reason for giving those Galleons back,” Draco corrects. 

Sighing, I turn my head so that I can see Draco; “She just looked too proud of herself, like she’d just put the cherry on top of the tyrannical empire. It felt gross. I don’t care that Trelawney is sacked; I’ll be the first to admit she’s an abysmal teacher. I just didn’t like how proud Umbridge looked.” 

“Sometimes – ” Draco starts and I ready myself for his words of disapproval “– I wonder how such a big heart fits into such a tiny person.” 

The breath I’ve been holding comes out in a giant whoosh, “You aren’t going to tell me I’m being foolish?” 

“Would you like me to? I will if that’s what you want.” He props himself up on an elbow as little bowls of herbs begin to circulate their way through the room. “Look, do I think you should care so much about Sybill Trelawney? No. I think she deserved what happened. I think Dumbledore is too soft. You and I both know none of it will matter in a few months. There’s only one place our loyalties should lay. I also know you care about people, Isabelle. You care if others are hurting. I won’t ever fault you for that. It’s what makes you special, fierce. Just remember who you’re supposed to care about.”

Grinning, I light our sage and mallowsweet with the tip of my wand, “You’re a good person, Draco.” 

“Don’t go around telling people that, they’ll think I’ve gone soft.” 

“You are soft,” I answer, giving him a playful shove. “Draco the sissy; remember that one?” 

He rolls his eyes, “I remember you punching Zabini in the face when he called me that.” 

“Well, obviously. I'm the only one allowed to make fun of you.” 

Draco grins, reaching through the thick lavender smoke for my hand, “You always were a bit possessive.” 

“Like you aren’t,” I answer back with a scoff. 

Even in the low lighting, I can see that Draco’s cheeks are dusted pink, “We aren’t talking about me.” 

~~~~~  
Harry sets a D.A. meeting for tonight, the coin burning in my pocket on the way down to dinner. While I’d much prefer to waste the night away curled on a couch with Draco, I figure my absence may raise alarm bells. I was hoping that Hermione would settle now that I’ve become a kind of constant in Harry’s life, but she’s only grown more suspicious. She questions everything I do. Not going to a D.A. meeting would only send her into another line of accusations. I’m getting tired of holding her off, my string of lies and explanations about my motives running thin. 

We work on Patronuses. Harry explains that it will be much harder to produce one with an actual Dementor around; no one seems to really be listening. Everyone is more fascinated with the slivery animals now prancing around the room. Even Cho seems in high spirits, chatting excitedly with other members and admiring her own Patronus. The disastrous affair of their first date appears to be forgotten as she greets Harry with a warm smile. 

I watch my own Patronus fly around the ceiling, sitting off in the corner by myself. Harry casts a glance at it before joining me, “You really love him, huh?” 

“Yes,” I offer with a smile, “but maybe this has nothing to do with love. Maybe it’s an eagle owl because he gives me strength, makes me feel safe. That’d make just as much sense, wouldn’t it?” 

Harry shakes his head, laughing lightly, “Is he really different around you or are you just so used to him being a pompous ass that it doesn’t affect you anymore?”

“He’s only an ass to you, Patronus Potter,” I run my shoulder into Harry’s giving him a playful wink. We’ve progressed far enough in our friendship that these little jabs are welcomed jokes. Harry and I often get a good laugh out of poking fun at each other. It comes naturally, the other full of clever quips about the other’s house or status. I do refrain from sharing that this particular jab, Patronus Potter, is not only used between the two of us. I'm not sure Harry would take to it as well if he knew Draco and I used the nickname to drag him behind his back. “No, Draco is sweet, though he’d kill me if he knew I was telling you. He dotes on me. It may come as a surprise to you, but he was raised to be quite the gentleman.” 

“Oh I’m – ” but the rest of Harry’s reply is lost as a house-elf I recognize as Dobby, the Malfoy’s unwillingly discharged help, pops into the room. 

Patronuses fade away into wispy trails of silver, all eyes now fixed on the new arrival. Dobby teeters on his toes, wringing his leathery hands together as he stares out at Harry through saucer eyes. 

“Harry Potter sir, Dobby has come to warm you.” The elf shudders. “But the house-elves have been warned not to tell.” 

Dobby runs at the nearest wall, rebounding, the multiple hats he's wearing acting as a kind of cushion. Harry reaches forward, grabbing the elf’s twig-like arm, preventing further punishment, “What’s happening, Dobby?” 

“Harry Potter…she…she…” his eyes are brimming with tears, hand coming up to smack himself in the face. 

“Who’s ‘she’, Dobby?” 

Dobby gives Harry a crazed look, his mouth opening and closing but it appears as if he can’t or won’t voice the name aloud. Harry signs, closing his eyes for a second before readdressing the house-elf, trying his hand at just guessing what Dobby is trying to tell him. 

“Umbridge?” 

The elf nods encouragingly. 

“What about her? Dobby, she hasn’t found out about this, about us, about the D.A.? Is she coming?” There’s an edge to Harry’s words now and I can tell by the way he’s looking around the room that he already knows, that he doesn’t really need the elf to tell him. The gig is up. We’ve been caught. 

Dobby erupts, tears now freely streaming down his face, words coming out between choked sobs, “Yes, Harry Potter! Yes!” 

Harry’s on his feet in an instant, staring wide-eyed out at the students in front of him. Everyone seems frozen to the spot by shock or disbelief. “What are you waiting for? Run!” 

There’s a mad dash for the door, people tripping and climbing over each other as they try to reach it. They all scatter as we enter the corridor, running for their common rooms. As I go to hurry up the hall, fingers curl around my wrist, yanking me harshly back. My heart stops. I fell into the false belief that there was no way Umbridge could figure out, that we were all being too clever to ever be caught. I fell into the trap of being too comfortable; into the childish idea that everyone in D.A. was untouchable. 

As my eyes settle on a pair of icy grey ones, my heart restarts. At least he’s familiar. At least the blow is coming from someone who cares. 

“Not that way,” Draco hisses, pushing me in the opposite direction, “she’s coming that way.” 

For a second, the world moves in slow motion. I back away from him as if moving through jelly. Then, as if someone has hit the fast forward button, everything comes back into sharp focus. Giving Draco a thankful smile, I turn and run just as the sound of heels against stone fills the hall. 

I run until I can’t anymore until my lungs are screaming and then I run some more. Only once the common room door has clicked shut behind me, do I collapse. Thank Merlin I’ve got someone looking out for me.


	19. Bad Influences

“I wish you hadn’t joined that stupid club,” Draco grumbles once he’s returned to the common room.

Keeping my back to him, I continue to stare out the window watching the weeds sway back and forth in the water, “Yeah well, I wish you hadn’t joined the Inquisitorial Squad, but we all make mistakes.”

“Me being on that squad saved your arse tonight.”

I don’t want to fight, especially not over something as stupid as this. Lately I’m more frustrated than I’ve ever been and it leads to nowhere but bickering. I don’t understand why I’ve been asked to befriend Harry. I’m learning nothing, at least nothing more than the Dark Lord could gather for himself. I’m tired of digging for information, of splitting my time between two groups of people, of getting no information. This was supposed to be an honor, something to aid in reaching an end goal. Instead, it’s more like wandering down a hall in the dark with my eyes closed searching for a light that doesn’t exist. I’d never voice it aloud, but the whole thing is beginning to feel like a massive waste of time.

“What’s going on with you?” Draco pushes when I don’t respond.

The cushion next to mine dips as he sits, his open palm appearing on my knee, “I’m tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of it all. I can’t question anything because he’ll think I’m not being loyal. When I got asked to do this it seemed so important, but lately it all just feels like – ” I trail off shaking my head “ – I’m just tired.”

Draco takes my hand, “You are doing something important. He obviously has a plan and you have some part to play in it. Give it time, Bell.”

“I have, almost a whole year.” _Trust Draco. He loves you. You can tell him things. You need him._ I chant this over and over, willing myself to open up, to not push him away. I’ve always shared my thoughts with Draco. I shouldn’t have to change that. I promised him nothing would change. “Maybe I’ve disappointed him, maybe he thinks I can’t handle anything important, that I’m just some foolish, useless _child_.”

He gently coaxes my head down onto his shoulder, running his fingers through my hair, “I don’t think he thinks that. He trusted you with this for a reason, just give it a little longer.”

~~~~~~~~~

Striding into Snape’s office, I plop down in a low backed chair in front of his desk. Neat stacks of color-coded brochures lay out across the wooden surface. Severus gives me a nod, pressing his elbows into the desktop, fingers tented just under his chin. He wears a pronounced grimace, gaze flicking to something behind me as he clears his throat.

Shifting around, I see her, perched there, legs crossed, standing out a bright pink against harsh shadows and smoothed stone. Letting out a nearly inaudible groan, I spin back towards Snape, giving him an unamused look. He arches an eyebrow as if trying to tell me he shares the sentiment.

“Do you have any ideas of what you’d like to do after school?”

Flicking my gaze over the numerous stacks of brochures, I read over the names: Auror, Muggle Relations, Banking, various teaching positions. A single black pamphlet, sitting just out of line, catches my eye. Scooting forward, I press my finger to it, “What’s that one?”

Severus gives me one of his thin-lipped smiles, his eyes glittering as if he knew, as if he purposely left that paper askew, “Unspeakable.”

“That’s what I want to do.”

Behind me, Umbridge lets out the slightest of yelps, trying to cover it as a cough, “I hardly – “

“You know what they do?” Snape continues on as if she hasn’t spoken.

Shrugging nonchalantly, I flip through the brochure, “They work in the Department of Mysteries, right? No one really knows what they do.”

“Indeed,” Snape pulls another pamphlet from his desk draw, unfolding it. His eyes sweep over it for a second before they settle back on me, “You will need to make O.W.Ls in Astronomy, Divination, Potions, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts in order to obtain such a position. Those would also be N.E.W.T classes you would need to take. From your grades – ” his eyes slide down to a sheet of parchment sitting off to his left “ – I don’t suspect you will have much problem.”

Umbridge lets out a great scoff, her shoes tapping against the stone floor as she draws nearer, “The Ministry is not in the habit of hiring those who spread ludicrous tales. Perhaps something outside – ”

“Ludicrous tales?” Snape arches an eyebrow, eyeing Umbridge suspiciously. “If Miss Riddle is doing such a thing it has failed to be brought to my attention.”

Letting out another huff, Umbridge narrows her eyes, shooting daggers at me, “Surely you heard about her detention.”

“I heard, she was repeating information shared by the headmaster. You can hardly blame a child for believing the words of their superiors, especially one as esteemed as Albus Dumbledore.” As Umbridge goes to protest, Snape holds up a hand, continuing on. “Nevertheless, I shall have a word with Miss Riddle. I’m quite sure she will do nothing of the like in the future.”

Umbridge opens her mouth, glares between the two of us and snaps it shut, “Very well.” With a sweep of pink, she exits the dungeon, the tapping of her heels echoing behind her.

Turning back to Severus, I crack a smile, tossing the brochure away, “Did you _see_ her face? She was so pissed.”

“You should not push your luck, Isabelle,” Despite his words there is another thin smile spreading over his face. “I might not always be there to bail you out.”

Rolling my eyes, I pull my legs up, tucking them under my skirt, “Do you really think I could do it, make N.E.W.T in all those classes?”

“If you apply yourself. Now – ” Snape stands, going into a cupboard behind his desk. From it, he pulls a shining silver dais, setting it gently on the wooden surface between us before retaking his seat “ – do you have any new information?”

I stare down at the swirling silvery-blue surface, fighting off the urge to poke at it, “Unless my father is interested in Harry’s failed venture with Cho Chang.”

“You’re telling me that between Christmas and now you’ve gleaned nothing of interest? What exactly have you been doing?”

“Honestly, Severus, I expect you of all people to be able to pick up on sarcasm.”

“Professor Snape.”

I stare him down, “ _Severus_.”

“It appears the position the Dark Lord has given you has begun to go to your head, Miss Riddle. While you may be in a position of power outside these walls, do not forget you are still a student and I am still your teacher.”

Rolling my eyes, I touch the tip of my wand to my temple. Icy waves lap over my forehead, spreading until my whole body feels as if a bucket of cold water has been dumped over it. A wispy strand of silver twists off the end of my wand, flowing seamlessly into the silver dais. “It’s got nothing to do with respect. You were never Professor Snape to me. You’ve always been Severus.”

“I am not your guardian any longer.”

“Aren’t you?”

In the seconds it takes to pull another memory strand from my head, Snape’s stony expression changes. His features soften, a melancholy glow appearing behind his eyes, making them appear lighter, friendlier. Despite not living with him for nearly six years, Severus has never really given up his caretaking duties. He’s the one person I know I can go to. He’s always willing to listen no matter how trivial the issue, no matter how childish the problem. Severus has never given up the fatherly role he took on all those years ago. The teacher-student relationship never really took hold. I’ve always looked at him as a father figure and in turn, though he tries his best to hide it, I know he sees me as somewhat of a daughter.

Once I’ve deposited two more memories into the dais and tucked my wand away, Severus once again stands, “Have a good day, Isabelle.”

“You too, Severus.”

~~~~~~~

“So you think whatever he’s after is one of those little orbs?” I question Harry after he’s explained his newest theory about what his dreams mean. We’re hidden between the rows of bookshelves, out of earshot of Ron and Hermione who are sitting at a table a few rows away. Harry’s been telling them he’s stopped having the dreams.

He shrugs, “If what he’s after is in the Department of Mysteries, which I’m positive it is, it has to be one of them. Nothing else is in there.”

“Maybe there’s more in there you haven’t seen yet.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, “Are you saying you think I shouldn’t try blocking out the dreams?”

“Well – ” I pull a face, squeezing my lips together and pulling them off to the side as my eyebrows crinkle together. Letting out a sigh, I shrug, “This might be the only way to know what he’s up to. I’m not saying open up your whole world to him, but if you’re sleeping it’s not like he can see all that much.”

There’s the smile I was looking for, the conspiratorial glint coming to emerald green eyes, “You’re the only one who thinks this is a good thing.”

“I never said it was a good thing,” I counter. “I just don’t think it’s the worst thing. Whatever you’ve been seeing might come in handy. I mean, you saved Mr. Weasley’s life, it can’t all be bad.”

Harry shoots a look over his shoulder. The way the books are arranged on the shelf allows us to see where Ron and Hermione are. Granger has started to twist around in her chair, looking around for Harry and me, “This has to just be between us. Hermione’s been bugging me about mastering Occlumency since she found out I was taking lessons.”

“My lips are sealed,” I pretend to zip my lips closed. “We should get back before they send out a search team.”

He chuckles, shoving the books we came to return into whatever empty space he can find, “She thinks you’re a bad influence.”

“That’s because I am,” giving Harry a wink, I slink around the end of the bookshelf, managing to get Ron to jump in his chair as I sneak up behind him.

By the time I’ve packed up my things, I’m one of the only people left in the library. Deep orange light seeps in through the windows, coating the shelves in a rich glow. As I try and make my way back to the dungeons, I get swept up in a river of students pushing their way towards the entrance hall. There’s an excited buzz that permeates the walls, bouncing off the brick and carrying through the whole castle.

Spotting Draco, I pull him towards the front of the crowd, curiosity taking over. The last time there was a gathering like this a teacher got sacked. That thought sends my stomach to my toes.

Instead of a teacher, the group is crowded around a bubbling, swampy pool of water with little plants growing around the bank. Fred and George stand on the edge, grinning like madmen. Draco looks on at the scene with his nose crinkled in disgust. I, on the other hand, am having a difficult time masking my amused smile. I should’ve known the fireworks wouldn’t be their only display. The twins seem to have made it their personal mission to cause as much havoc as possible since Umbridge began her reign of terror.

“So!” Umbridge stands in the middle of the crowd, face beet red, the bow she’s wearing today askew. Despite her rather disheveled appearance, Umbridge looks positively thrilled at having cornered her prey, “So you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?”

“Pretty amusing, yeah,” Fred answers with a shrug, showing no fear.

Now trying to hide my laughter behind my hands, I roll my eyes as Draco shoots me a dirty look. It’s a harmless prank, something I’m sure Flitwick can have cleared up in the simple flourish of his wand. Might as well find some amusement in a year that’s been rather drab.

The echoing shuffle of footfalls parts the crowd on the other side of the swamp. Filch, huffing and puffing, hurries towards the group, a piece of parchment raised triumphantly over his head, “I’ve got the form, Headmistress. I’ve got the form and I’ve got the whips waiting. Oh, let me do it now.”

“Very good, Argus,” Umbridge turns her icy glare back to Fred and George. “You two are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in _my_ school.”

“You know what? I don’t think we are.” Fred turns to his brother, painting on a mischievous smile, “George, I think we’ve outgrown full-time education.”

George mirrors Fred, giving him a curt nod, “Yeah, I’ve been feeling that way myself.”

They talk in a business-like manner as if discussing plans for new inventions or what’s for lunch.

“Time to test our talents in the real world, d’you reckon?”

“Definitely.” George grins, pulling out his wand.

Together, they point their wands up the hall, voices ringing out over the babble still emitting from the gathered crowd, “ _Accio_ Brooms!”

Distant rattling echoes from floors above. A loud crash permeates through the halls. As students duck down, I see two broomsticks come soaring through the air. A chain swings hazardously off the end of one, many jumping out of its path to avoid injury. They zoom down the stairs, stopping abruptly in front of the twins, vibrating in midair as if they know what’s coming.

The two swing their legs over their newly acquired transportation, “We won’t be seeing you.”

George gives the crowd a wave, looking over at Umbridge who looks like she’s gotten the wind knocked out of her, mouth hanging open, “Yeah, don’t bother to keep in touch.”

They hover just off the ground, Fred looking over the crowd, “If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley – Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Our new premises!”

“Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they’re going to use our products to get rid of this old bat,” George adds with a wink.

“Stop them!” Umbridge shouts, pointing to the twins who are now rising rapidly into the air. As the Inquisitorial Squad moves in, Fred and George shoot up and out of reach. Letting out triumphant whoops, they fly toward the front doors, the chain swinging around, causing students to duck out of the way. As they disappear out of the castle into the sunset the hall erupts into applause and cheers.

Draco comes back over to me, wearing a sour scowl, “Good riddance, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Glancing back toward the open doors, I see two black dots disappearing into the stunning oranges and pinks of the sunset. The school’s going to be dull without those two stirring up trouble. Maybe one day I’ll get the chance to tell them just how hilarious I found their antics. “I guess.”


	20. O.W.Ls

Umbridge takes little time getting everyone back in line. While the swamp still hasn’t bee cleared up, all the teachers claimed they had no idea how to fix it, classes continue on. With O.W.Ls looming closer and closer with each passing day, there’s a palpable feeling of nerves reverberating throughout the castle. 

The reality of it all finally sinks in for me while in Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall scrawls the examination schedule on the board, giving everyone in the class a stern look, her lips drawn into a thin line. 

“As you can see your O.W.Ls are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory exams in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night.” McGonagall explains as everyone copies the schedule down from the board. “Now, I must warn you that the most stringent Anti-Cheating Charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs, and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbor at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority’s rules.” 

Our first exam will be Charms theory. Draco and I spend endless nights in the common room, notes and books strewn across the flagstone floor. We shoot dirty looks at anyone who dares try and disturb us, Draco chasing away curious first years with a flash of his Prefect’s badge. Our main form of communication becomes complicated questions and demands for various charms to be performed at random. There is no usual grumble about any of this mattering in the future or not seeing the point. While our futures are pretty much already set out, neither one of us is willing to slip in class ranking. 

When I’m not studying with Draco, I’m going through notes with Ron, Harry, and Hermione. The only thing Granger seems to be focused on is our examinations. While the other boys slack off, often joking around or pretending to read through notes, Hermione sits behind an ever-growing stack of books. 

“As if she’s not going to get all O’s,” Ron grumbles as we pack up another late night of studying in the library. 

My original plan wasn’t to do any work the night before the exam, but when Harry invited me to join them, my study-scrambled brain couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse not to. Now, practically throwing myself down the steps to Draco’s dormitory, I’m just ready for bed. 

“You might as well just move an extra bed in here,” Blaise jokes as I slide in next to Draco. 

While the girl’s dorms are set up identical to the boys, I prefer it here. The room is circular with little nooks for the beds set back in the walls. Each nook has a thick green velvet curtain you can pull across it, offering the sleeper darkness and privacy. Between the beds on the outside wall are floor to ceiling windows, allowing the lake to be seen. In the middle of the room is a circular fireplace, the flames constantly crackling away at the logs. 

“We’d have to get rid of the fireplace.” 

“At least then you’d be exactly where you like to be,” Blaise answers, buttoning up his sleep shirt. 

Rolling onto my side, I watch him, “And where exactly is that?” 

“At the center of attention,” Blaise teases, sticking his tongue at. 

Draco curls his warms around me, pulling me in closer to his chest, “Leave her alone, Zabini.” 

“We’re just having a bit of fun, love,” I answer back, twisting around to place a quick kiss on the tip of Draco’s nose. “He doesn’t mean anything by it, do you, Blaise?” 

Zabini shoots a look at Draco, “Just a bit of fun, Malfoy.” 

Blaise was the first person I met when coming to Hogwarts. He plopped down in the train compartment right next to me and began gushing about how excited he was to finally be going to school. While we’ve had our fair share of riffs, we’ve managed to maintain a friendship. We’re able to play off of each other’s creative side and he’s always up for pulling pranks on Crabbe and Goyle. 

“Maybe you should have a bit of fun with someone else’s girlfriend,” Draco snaps before tugging the curtain over his nook, plunging us into darkness. 

Gently running my fingers through his hair, I wait for my eyes to adjust, locking my gaze with him, “What’s the matter, Draco?” 

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” 

Ignoring his grumbling, I push my palm into Draco’s shoulder; trying to get him to tip over onto his stomach, “Roll over.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Listen,” I push at him some more, dipping my head down so that my lips dust his ear, “For once in your life.” 

Once I’ve gotten Draco onto his stomach, I crawl on top of him, my legs on either side of his hips. Slowly, I push my fingers into his neck, working them up and down in little circles. He begins to relax under me as I move my hands down over his shoulders and back, applying more pressure as I go. Draco lets out a few muffled groans of pleasure, his muscles giving way under my movements. 

“Feeling better?” I ask after a while, my boyfriend now putty in my hands. 

Draco lets out a yawn, rolling lazily onto his back, holding me in my spot, “Much. Thank you. I don’t mean to get snippy with you.” 

“I know,” I give him a pouty smile, “You’re going to be amazing tomorrow. You’re going to do so well that they’ll have to come up with something even higher than an O.” 

He lets out a breathy laugh, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Are you worried?” 

“Not particularly,” dipping down I press a kiss to Draco’s forehead. “Now, you get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

The nerves don’t actually settle in until the oak doors of the Great Hall glide open. Instead of the usual house tables, perfect rows of desks are set up. They all face the front of the room, already outfitted with an exam sheet and quill. The teacher’s table is still set up; an intimidating hourglass perched just in front of the spot Dumbledore usually takes. Once everyone has settled, a short witch in plain black robes stands, drawing her wand. 

“You may begin,” she taps the hourglass which begins to deposit sand into the bottom of it. 

Already feeling like I’m running out of time, I flip the exam sheet over. Some of the questions are similar to the ones I’ve practiced with Draco. By the time we’re told to stop, I’m pretty confident I’ve answered everything to the best of my ability. Crabbe and Goyle leave the Great Hall looking like they’ve just left a rowdy party. Draco, on the other hand, brushes past me, disappearing into the crowd. 

“Isabelle,” Blaise appears on my left as I continue to watch Draco push his way back to the dungeons. “That wasn’t too bad, huh?” 

“I’m not surprised to hear you say that, considering you’ve been spending all your time levitating first years,” I answer back with a grin, running my shoulder into Blaise’s arm. 

He chuckles, “I knew it’d come in handy. Draco ditch you to go vomit again?” 

“He’s not gone to vomit. He just wants to avoid conversations like this one, doesn’t care how everyone felt about it or if they think they spelled something incorrectly.” 

“Or,” Zabini pushes, a smirk already creeping over his face, “he’s gone to vomit again.” 

“If you don’t stop I’m going to make you vomit.” 

He winks at me, “I don’t remember Flitwick teaching us that one.” 

“I’m serious, Blaise,” as we go to enter the common room, I block his way, pressing my palm into his chest, “Don’t poke at him. We both know Draco is volatile when he’s under stress.” 

“Maybe instead of spending all your free time snogging, you should teach your boyfriend to take a joke.” 

“And maybe I should teach you some respect.” 

He shrugs, stepping around me, “Looks like you’ve got lots of things you can do with your time.” 

Draco is absent from lunch, appearing a few minutes before they start calling names for the practical portion of our Charms exam. I give him a smile as his name is called. He shrugs back, continuing to mutter under his breath as he disappears into the chambers behind the Great Hall. 

I’m called back in a group with Pansy and Goyle. None of the requests are too complicated. I’m halfway through making a set of teacups do the waltz when a puff of smoke rises from the other end of the examination room. Tipping back on my heels, I crane my neck to see what’s happened. Goyle’s eyebrows are singed, his face screwed up, mouth hanging open stupidly as his examiner quickly clears up the mess. After being asked to levitate a goblet, I show off a little sending it spiraling towards the ceiling in neat little circles, the examiner gives me a warm smile, sending me on my way. 

Draco is sitting on the couch by the fire when I return to the common room after the Transfiguration practical. Charms and Transfiguration were practically back-to-back, making it easier for everyone, less time to stress about things. It was more of the same; change a frog into a dinner plate, change the color of our assigned animal. He glances up when I sit down but doesn’t make any move to start a conversation. Instead, he continues to flick through the book laid out on his lap, flipping the pages so quickly there’s no way he’s actually taking in any of the information. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Finally, he tears his eyes away from the book, letting them settle on me, “My mouse turned orange.” 

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? They asked us to change the color.” 

Draco gives a dramatic eye roll as if I missed something blatantly obvious in his previous statement, “I meant to turn it blue. It should’ve turned blue.” 

“Draco,” I have to bite into my bottom lip to keep the giggle spilling past it. “They don’t know what color it was meant to be. All they saw was that it changed. Did everything else go okay? You were able to levitate your object, make it dance?” 

“Yes,” his tone suggests that my questions have offended him. 

“Then I’m sure you did just fine,” gently, I slide the book in his lap shut. “There’s no point nitpicking. You can’t change anything now.” 

From within his robes, Draco produces a crumples piece of parchment, “They expect O’s. This is the third letter father’s sent.” 

Taking the offending item, I ball it up, tossing it into the fire, “And that’s where he can keep his opinion, thank you very much. Now, are you ready to actually read that book or would you like to keep pretending?” 

The rest of the week proceeds without a hitch. Draco and I wake early, study until breakfast, take our exams, and spend the rest of the evening hiding out amongst the bookshelves in the library until we’re thrown out. Since ridding himself of the letters from his father, Draco seems to be in better spirits. By Thursday, the day of our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L, I even manage to get him laughing so heartily we get dirty looks from others trying to use the few minutes we have waiting in front of the Great Hall for some last-minute studying. 

“How are we meant to study for this?” Draco grumbles on Tuesday night before our Divination and Astronomy exams, tossing aside the dream notes he’s been studying. 

“Just tell the examiner they’re going to live a long, happy life. Everyone wants to hear that, right? Besides, it’s not like either of us is actually going to continue with it.” 

My boyfriend arches an eyebrow, “So that Unspeakable stuff you told Professor Snape was just smoke up his arse?” 

“Well, I couldn’t exactly tell him I plan on becoming second-hand man to Voldemort with Umbridge right there, now could I?” I hiss back, doing nothing to hide my jesting smile. 

“Would’ve been worth it to see her face.” 

“I thought you liked our new headmistress.” 

Draco shrugs, “I wasn’t invited to join your fancy defense squad. Working for her seemed like the next best option. Ya know, a good chance to get under Potter’s skin.” 

“As if you don’t enjoy that,” playfully sticking my tongue out at him, I shove my hand across the table, palm side up. “Now, tell me what tragic way I’m going to die this week.” 

As the last day of O.W.L examinations dawns, the mood in the castle changes. There’s an aura of excitement that follows us into the Great Hall. The hourglass that two weeks ago looked so intimidating, now just looks like another piece of the background. The examiner stating we may start no longer sends my heart to my stomach. 

I’m about halfway through answering my fourth question when it happens. There’s no build-up. One second silence, the sound of quills scratching against parchment and the next a blood-chilling scream, high pitched, piercing through the quiet like a well-aimed knife. Spinning, I spot Harry, a few seats behind me two rows over, thriving around in his chair. 

His eyes are squeezed shut, face red and glistening with sweat. His lips are parted, threatening to split him in two. His ink well has fallen to the floor, a sticky black pool creeping its way across the stone. Harry’s body continues to convulse as examiners fly towards him. With one last, frantic shudder, he slips from his chair. 

The piercing noise hangs in the air long after he’s been escorted out and no matter how hard I try, I find myself looking back at that ink spot. A stain unnoticed by those trying to render aid. A stain no one bothered to clear. A stain left to spread its darkness as far as it can.


	21. Sirius

The second the examiners call time, I’m out of my seat, rushing for the double doors. My eyes scan the students that wait in the hall, trying to spot Ron or Hermione or maybe even Harry himself. After a few minutes of panic, I spot a streak of bright red hair. Rushing towards it, I slam into Ron who grabs my elbows to steady me. Something is happening and despite my questions, I can’t miss it. 

“What happened to him?” I nearly demand, searching first Ron’s eyes and then Hermione’s.

The girl shrugs, frowning a little, “Maybe stress?” 

“He didn’t seem that nervous this morning,” Ron answers with a shake of his head. 

Suddenly, I’m being tugged back through the crowd. I only just catch Ron’s hand, pulling him along after me. Hermione fights through the throng of students trying to meet up with friends or get back to their common rooms. Her voice rises above the low rumble, her call coming out almost desperate, “Harry! What happened? Are you all right? Are you ill?” 

“Come with me. Come on, I’ve got to tell you something,” He’s already got his hands on his friend’s shoulders, pushing them further down the halls. As if he’s a mother doing a headcount and discovering she’s missing a child, Harry comes to a sudden stop. He whips around, giving me an annoyed look when he spots me still standing in the same spot. “You too, Isabelle. Hurry up.” 

The three of us follow Harry into an empty classroom. He snaps the door shut, turning to us with a crazed look, “Voldemort’s got Sirius.” 

“What?” 

It really doesn’t make any sense. How in the world could Voldemort have Sirius? He’s been trapped in Grimmauld Place since the very beginning of this. We’ve only got one secret-keeper and there’s no way Mad-Eye would give up the location, not even under torture. Whatever Harry saw must be a mistake, some kind of stress-induced fever dream. 

“How d’you – ?” 

“Saw it,” Harry cuts Ron off, making it all make sense. It’s not a fever dream or some crazed delusion. Harry hasn’t been able to make any progress with Occlumency and the Dark Lord has used that to his advantage. Suddenly, our conversation over Christmas break comes back to me. I’ll lure him to the Ministry. You need to be there. “Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam.” 

“But – but where? How?” Hermione stumbles over her words, eyebrows scrunched together so tightly it looks like they’ve grown together. 

“I dunno how, but I know exactly where,” Harry begins pacing through the room, talking with his hands. “There’s a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls, and they’re at the end of row ninety-seven. He’s trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there. He’s torturing him. Says he’ll end by killing him.” Harry stops, turning to face the three of us. “How are we going to get there?” 

“G-get there?” Ron’s mouth falls open, the tips of his ears going bright red. 

“Get to the Department of Mysteries, so we can rescue Sirius!” 

“Harry,” Stepping forward, I curl my fingers around his arm, just above the elbow, catching his gaze, “Are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure!” He explodes, throwing me off of him. 

“Harry, how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realizing he was there?” Hermione, always the voice of reason, pipes up. She manages to keep her tone even but I can see the worry creeping up her eyes, see the way her lips twitch, the way her fingers work against her forearm. 

“How do I know? The question is how we’re going to get in there!” 

“But Harry, think about this,” the panicky fear has now slipped into Hermione’s tone, her shoulders vibrating as she tries desperately to talk sense into her friend. “It’s five o’clock in the afternoon. The Ministry of Magic must be full of workers. How would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen? Harry, they’re probably the two most wanted wizards in the world. You think they could get into a building full of Aurors undetected?” 

As Harry’s friends continue to try and dissuade him from running off to the Ministry, I finally understand the task I was given. Voldemort knew this would happen, after almost a full year of weird visions and reoccurring dreams he suspected Ron and Hermione would be wary. The whole year I’ve been building Harry up, insisting that the dreams must mean something, be leading to something important. I’m here to be on his side, to adamantly agree with Harry’s idea that Sirius is at the Ministry being tortured. He’ll trust me, be thankful he’s got someone in his corner. With both of us digging our heels in, Ron and Hermione will really be given no choice. They’ll have to come along or watch Harry and I run off to what they’ll be certain is our inevitable demise. 

“This is Sirius we’re talking about. This is Harry’s only family. You just want him to forget about it? Leave Sirius to his fate?” I challenge Hermione’s latest theory. 

“Well – ” she signs, frowning, eyebrows furrowing. “Well, no, but – I just think we need to really think about this. Maybe we can get a letter out to the Order.” 

Harry scoffs, shaking his head, “By then he could be dead, Hermione! There’s no time. We need to go. Come on, Isabelle.” 

“Wait,” Hermione calls after us as we move towards the door. “Why don’t you try seeing if Sirius is home. You could use the fireplace in Umbridge’s office again.” 

Green eyes land on me as the door opens, Luna and Ginny wandering in, “What do you think?” 

“I think we’re wasting time. You said you saw Voldemort torturing Sirius right now, right?” Harry nods. “Then we should go now. If Ron and Hermione want to stay behind and try to get word to the Order so be it, but I’d like to try and save Sirius.” 

Ron and Hermione talk over each other, trying once again to get Harry to see reason. Ginny looks utterly confused, Luna taking the whole situation in with her head cocked to the side, eyes wide and curious. As Harry gets more and more agitated with the pushback from his friends, his voice rises. By the time Hermione finally caves, he’s nearly shouting. 

“ – bound to go and tip her off.” 

“Luna and I can stand at either end of the corridor and warn people not to go down there because someone’s let off a load of Garroting Gas.” Ginny fires off with the confidence of a seasoned liar. 

“Okay, well then, Harry, you and I will be under the Invisibility Cloak, and we’ll sneak into the office and you can talk to Sirius – ” Hermione stutters out.

“He’s not there, Hermione!” 

“I mean, you can – can check whether Sirius is at home or not while I keep watch. I don’t think you should be in there alone. Lee’s already proved the window’s a weak spot, sending those nifflers through it.” 

“I…okay, thanks.” 

“Right, well, even if we do all of that, I don’t think we’re going to be able to bank on more than five minutes. Not with Filch and the wretched Inquisitorial Squad floating around.” 

“I can try and head them off, send them in the wrong direction,” I offer. If I run into Draco and explain what’s going on, he’ll be able to send the others on a wild goose chase for a few minutes. He might not like the idea of me running off to the Ministry or breaking the rules, but he’ll do it. At the end of the day he knows this is what I’m supposed to do, he’ll be on my side. 

“That’ll be good, Isabelle. I think five minutes should do. C’mon, let’s go – ”

“Now?” 

“Of course now! What did you think, we’re going to wait until after dinner or something? Hermione, Sirius is being tortured right now!” 

“I – oh all right. You go get the Invisibility Cloak and we’ll meet you at the end of Umbridge’s corridor, okay?” 

Luna, Ginny, and I split off at the top of the steps. While they go right, I go off to the left, hoping to head off the first group of the Inquisitorial Squad. Instead of brilliant white, I’m met with two mops of dark hair; Parkinson and Warrington. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Pansy sneers, cracking her knuckles. “I always knew you’d be a house traitor.” 

I can’t help but scoff, “Seriously? A house traitor, that’s the best you’ve got?” 

“What’re they planning, Isabelle?” Warrington demands, taking a step closer to me, wand at the ready. 

Curling my fingers around my own wand, I take up a defensive stance, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. There are students blowing up the Transfiguration Department. Shouldn’t you be there?” 

“Yeah, see, Umbridge didn’t buy that. Especially after her alarms went off. She’s got the office protected now.” Pansy spats back, dark eyes narrowing. “What’re they doing?” 

“I’ve already told you – ”

But Pansy is having none of it. She lunges forward, capturing my wrists, tugging them unceremoniously behind my back. She shoves me forward, leading me towards Umbridge’s office. I only hope Harry hasn’t had enough time to figure out where Sirius actually is. A lucky break, Sirius upstairs with no one to get him; Harry unable to get through at all. I need him to keep thinking Sirius is in danger. 

As I’m carted up the hall, I continue to poke holes in my father’s plan. Did he really think Harry wasn’t going to tell his friends? Did he think they’d just let him go off to the Ministry with no prior investigation? He’s seen what I have. He knows Granger is skeptical. He knows Harry’s friends are protective of the boy. 

“Unhand my girlfriend, Parkinson.” 

He comes around the corner, dragging along Neville. His lips curl up into a cruel sneer, eyes boring a hole into Pansy’s skull. 

“No. I caught her fair and square. She doesn’t get a pass this time, Draco.” 

The sneer doesn’t drop as Draco shoves Neville forward, “Switch.” 

“You’re going soft, Malfoy,” Warrington grimaces, tugging the back of Neville’s sweater as I’m pushed towards my boyfriend. “One pair of pretty eyes and you’re falling all over yourself. Pathetic.” 

“Don’t call him pathetic,” I struggle against Draco’s grip, trying to get at Warrington, wanting to wipe the self-satisfied smirk from his stupid face. 

Draco gives me a gentle but firm nudge in the back, forcing me to move along the hallway. As we grow closer to the office we’re joined by Crabbe and Goyle who have Ginny and Luna in tow. Ginny is kicking at Crabbe’s shins, trying to twist out of his meaty grip. Luna, on the other hand, floats along beside Goyle, waiving at a few paintings. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Draco hisses as we take a spot over by the window. While he keeps my wrists in his grasp, he holds them loosely, thumb stroking my palm. 

Harry is thrown violently into the same chair he served detention in, glasses askew, hair flopping down over his face.

“What I’m supposed to,” I whisper back as Umbridge starts up another long-winded speech about breaking rules and being disrespected. 

“There has to be a better way than this.” 

That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking, but there’s not really time to discuss it now. This is the plan; we’ve got to stick to it. My only job is to make sure Harry makes it to the Ministry. “Yeah well, I don’t think he accounted for this.” 

“Should I tell her there’s been a mistake?” 

“Not unless you think it’ll get Harry out of here too,” I grumble back as Severus sweeps into the room wearing a harsh frown. 

“You wanted to see me, Headmistress?” Snape wears a look of utter indifference, keeping his eyes trained on one of those stupid cat plates Umbridge calls decoration. 

The toad smiles back at him, “Ah, Professor Snape. Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quickly as you can, please.” 

“You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter,” the hauntings of a smile grace his lips as if he already knows his next statement is going to embarrass the woman standing before him. “Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient.” 

Umbridge’s face goes bright pink, almost matching the color of her coat, “You can make more, can’t you?” 

His dark eyes now sweep over the group of us. Ron with his bleeding lip. Hermione with her ghostly white face. Ginny, still struggling to break free from her captures. Neville who looks slightly more deflated than when I first saw him in the hall. Luna with her big eyes sweeping over the kittens. And finally me, the twitch of his eyebrow asking a question I have no real way of answering. 

“Certainly. It takes a full moon to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month.” 

“A month?” Umbridge retorts, rising into a girlish falsetto she only uses when she’s trying to mask frustration and anger. It makes her sound like a walking baby doll. “A month? But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!” 

Severus repeats himself, insisting there is no way he can get her the potion she seeks earlier than a month. I only half believe him. Sure, Veritaserum takes a full moon cycle to make, but I don’t really think Severus is out. He never lets his potion supply deplete. He prides himself on having any number of concoctions on hand for moments like this. 

“You are on probation!” Umbridge erupts, her face now tomato red, the veins across her forehead and neck throbbing horribly against the skin. “You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!” 

Snape gives Umbridge a slight bow, looking rather perplexed at what has just transpired. 

“He’s got Padfoot!” Harry shouts as Snape turns to leave. The man hesitates, his fingers curled around the door handle. “He’s got Padfoot at the place where it’s hidden!” 

Umbridge looks as if she’s just come to some kind of great revelation, as if all the pieces of her puzzle have finally fallen into place, “Padfoot? What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?” 

Severus studies Harry’s face, giving nothing away. His tongue flicks out over his bottom lip, “I have no idea.” 

In a flourish of dark robes, he disappears from the room. Not before meeting my eyes though. Not before giving me the slightest of winks. No, he knows. The information will get to the right people. 

“Very well,” Umbridge turns her attention back to Harry, chest heaving, wand twitching in her grasp. “Very well. I am left with no alternative. This is more than a matter of school discipline. This is an issue of Ministry security. Yes…yes. You are forcing me, Potter. I do not want to.” 

“Then don’t!” Ginny snaps. 

“Silence!” Umbridge bellows, eyes still set on Harry. “Sometimes circumstances justify the use. I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice. The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue.” 

“No!” Hermione shrieks, her eyes going wide. “Professor Umbridge, it’s illegal.” 

Umbridge takes no notice, now staring hungrily at Harry as if she’s been waiting for this moment all year. 

“The Minister wouldn’t want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge,” Hermione continues on, trying to break through to the woman. 

Umbridge waives off the concerns, “What Cornelius doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Cru – ” 

“No!” Hermione bellows, “No – Harry – Harry, we’ll have to tell her!” 

“No way!” Harry shouts back. 

“We’ll have to, Harry, she’ll force it out of you anyway, what’s the point?” 

All eyes are now trained on Hermione. Almost everyone wears looks of utter horror or confusion as she begins to cry into the back of her captor’s robes. 

“Well, well, well!” Umbridge spins, that same triumphant look she wore the day of Trelawney’s sacking coming to her face. “Little Miss Question-All is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!” 

“I’m sorry everyone, but I can’t stand it.” 

Umbridge gives her an encouraging smile, doing nothing to mask the devilish desire, “Now then, with whom was Potter communicating just now?”

“Well,” Hermione hiccups out, hiding her face behind her hands. “Well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore.” 

“You know where he is?” Umbridge asks eagerly. 

Hermione is barely able to mask the giggle she lets out with a hiccup. I’ve got to give it to her; the girl is fast on her feet, “No. But – but we needed to tell him something important! We…we wanted to tell him it’s r-ready.” 

“What’s ready?” 

“The weapon,” Hermione grimaces as if all of this is just too much for her to handle. 

Umbridge eats it all up, “Weapon? Weapon? You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore’s orders, of course?” 

“Y-yes. I can bring you to it.” 

“Very well,” Umbridge spins to Harry. “Get up, now!” 

Harry lets out a great huff, but follows directions. After she’s informed the Inquisitorial Squad to keep us all here until she’s returned the three leave. 

For a while we all stand there in silence, just staring at each other. A few members of Umbridge’s precious squad seem to become restless, grumbling about how they’re missing end of exam parties back in the common room. 

“I’m awfully hungry,” Ron remarks, already digging into his pants pocket. “Mind if I eat while we wait?” 

“Yes,” Crabbe snatches away the package of sweets Ron’s produced. 

I recognize the bright colors and give Ron an eye roll, which he returns with a proud smirk. With in seconds everyone who’s eaten a sweet, everyone but Pansy and Draco, is doubled over, vomiting on the carpet. 

“What the hell did you give them?” Pansy shrieks. But she never gets an answer, legs turning to jelly underneath her, body tumbling to the floor. 

Turning to Draco, I grab back Harry’s wand, frowning, “I’m really sorry about this.” 

His legs buckle under him, eyes growing wide as he slumps to the floor.


	22. Isabelle Revealed

“You’ve just hexed your boyfriend,” Ron says in disbelief, leading everyone towards the forest. Not really knowing how to shake off the others, Ron and I silently decided to just let them come along. Neville, Ginny, and Luna aren’t bad company and I’m sure they’ll make Harry feel safer going into the task ahead of him. 

“Indeed I have,” I give him a cheery smile, understanding the astonishment, the little gleam in his eye. None of them ever thought I’d be willing to go that far. “Where are we going?” 

“He went all ashen-faced and then just hit the ground,” Ron continues on, holding a hand to his forehead and letting his eyes roll back in his head, tongue stuck out. 

“I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” though I’m not sure if I’m saying it for him or myself. Draco will likely accept my apology, understand it was better I did it than any of the others. I still feel bad about it. I never wanted him to get hurt in any of this. “Care to share where you’re taking us?” 

“And the others,” Ron babbles on excitedly, letting out a cheery laugh as he remembers our less than valiant escape. Ginny and I were the only ones who actually had to raise our wands. “I knew they’d fall for the sweets. Crabbe and Goyle are always – ”

“Ron!” Ginny grabs her brother by the shoulder, wheeling him around. “Where are we going?” 

“Oh! Into the forest,” Ron gives a little shudder as if remember something he’d rather not. “Not my first pick, but I think I understood what Hermione was on about back there, plus that’s where I saw them heading through the window.” 

“What’s in the forest?” Luna questions. 

Ron grimaces, “Hagrid’s little brother.” 

We all fall into silence, continuing to follow Ron deeper into the forest. It’s eerily quiet today, no usual sounds of birds or other creatures reaching this far in. Ron’s stop is so sudden it sends Ginny crashing into him. Neville and I have to grab both by the back of their shirts to keep them from falling. The voices cutting through the silence alerts me to why he’d decided on the sudden stop. Harry and Hermione appear to be having some kind of disagreement. She’s got her arms folded over her chest, a deep scowl set on her lips. Though I can’t see Harry’s face, his back is turned to our small group, his shoulders are squared and he’s talking with his hands a sure sign of agitation. 

“Anyway, Harry, how exactly were you planning to get all the way to London?” Hermione shoots back at a comment none of us heard, once again trying to poke holes in the boy’s plans. I wish she’d shut up. He needs to do this. Has to do it. 

“Yeah, we were wondering that too,” No point hiding here behind the trees all night. We need to get going. “I was thinking Floo powder. Now that Umbridge is out of the way her fireplace is open.” 

Harry whips around, his features settling when he sees it’s just us, “I used the last of the powder to see if Sirius was home, which – ” he turns back to Hermione giving her a cold stare “ – he wasn’t.” 

“So,” Ron steps forward to hand Harry and Hermione their wands back, “had any other ideas?” 

“How did you get away?” Harry ignores Ron’s question, likely to give himself more time to think. 

Ron shrugs as if he wasn’t just gloating about the details, “Told them I was hungry, course the lot of ‘em decided they wanted the sweets for themselves. Everyone ended up vomiting. Well, everyone but Malfoy and Parkinson. Ginny got the girl with a Jelly Legs Jinx and Isabelle hexed Malfoy.” 

“You hexed Malfoy?” Harry asks in disbelief, raising an eyebrow in suspicion, trying to hide the smile rising to his lips. 

“Is it really that surprising?” 

Everyone choruses back with a yes. 

Rolling my eyes, I take a seat against a nearby tree, “He’ll be just fine. It was only a binding charm. What’ve you done with Umbridge?” 

“She got carried away by a herd of centaurs,” Harry answers with a shrug. 

“And they left you behind?” Ginny inquires. 

“No, they got chased off by Grawp.”

“Who’s Grawp?” Luna questions in her usual dreamy tone. Sometimes I wonder if the girl ever has any idea where she is or what’s going on around her. 

“Hagrid’s little brother,” Ron answers. “Anyway, never mind that now. Harry, what did you find out in the fire? Has You-Know-Who got Sirius or – ?”

“Yes. He wasn't home and I’m sure Sirius is alive, but I can’t see how we’re going to get there to help him,” Harry answers with a disappointed sigh. He looks honestly put out at his inability to jump into action immediately.

Luna’s face instantly shines with a smile, “Well, we’ll have to fly, of course.” 

“Okay,” Harry grits out, spinning to look at the girl. “First of all, we aren’t doing anything if you’re including yourself in that, and second of all, Ron’s the only one with a broomstick that isn’t being guarded by a security troll, so – ”

So he isn’t happy we’re all here. In typical Harry fashion, he’d rather act alone. Chivalry? A want to keep his friends safe? Or glory? Can he not stand the idea of anyone else taking credit for such a heroic act? Despite weaseling my way into his life, Harry’s intentions are still a bit of a mystery to me. At times he can be selfless, thinking of only others. Yet, there are times when he’s devastatingly selfish. It’s hard to glean any kind of real motivation from this constant flip-flopping. 

“I’ve got a broom!” Ginny counters Harry’s statement, already squaring her jaw, fingers curling into fists, preparing for the coming argument. 

“Yeah, but you’re not coming,” Ron shoots back, giving his younger sister a sideways glance. Definitely an act of chivalry, a need to protect his family. Ron is incredibly easy to read. 

“Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!” Ginny argues and for a second I see the same defiance flash in her eyes as I saw the night Fred and George left. I’ve gathered all the Weasley’s are loyal to a fault, ready to stand up to injustice and face it head-on. 

“You’re too – ” Harry starts. 

Ginny, quickly cuts him off, “I’m three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Sorcerer’s Stone.” 

“Yeah but – ”

“We were all in the D.A. together,” Neville comes out of the shadows he’s been hiding in. He stares Harry down with courage I wasn’t aware he possessed. “It was all supposed to be about fighting You-Know-Who, wasn’t it? And this is the first chance we’ve has to do something real – or was that all just a game or something?” 

“No, of course it wasn’t,” Harry answers defensively. 

“Then we should come too. We want to help.” 

“No. I’m not letting any of you do this.” 

We’re wasting time arguing. What does it matter if they come? They’ll all be dead anyway. Now or later, it’s still the same fate. Let them fight; have their moment of glory. I need to get Harry moving, “I don’t think that’s your choice to make, Harry. Everyone here knows what we could be getting ourselves into. Everyone here has just as good a reason to fight as you do.” 

“No. I’m not going to ask that of anyone.” There’s a flicker in his eyes as he shakes his head. Fear? Compassion? Love? The emotion is hard to read. 

I take my best guess, “Merlin, Harry! You can’t do everything alone! Don’t you think that Ron and Hermione and Ginny care about Sirius just as much as you do? Don’t you think I care about him?” 

“That’s not – ”

“I’m going whether you like it or not, and if you say no one more time it’ll be you that’s left behind. Sirius isn’t just your family, Harry.” 

Something in what I’ve said must’ve gotten through because Harry deflates, looking over all of us, “Alright, fine, not that it matters. We still don’t know how to get there.” 

“I thought we’d settled that? We’re flying!” Luna says, a little more conviction in her words than usual. 

Ron, clearly frustrated, spins to look at Luna, “Look, you might be able to fly without a broomstick but the rest of us can’t sprout wings whenever we – ”

“There are other ways of flying without a broomstick,” Luna answers back, a laugh in her words. 

“I s’pose we’re going to ride on the back of the Kacky Snorgle or whatever it is?” Ron shoots back, his words dripping in sarcasm. He’s usually not this nasty. 

“The Crumple-Horned Snorkack can’t fly,” Luna answers, rolling her eyes as if Ron is being quite ridiculous, “but they can, and Hagrid says they're very good at finding places their riders are looking for.” 

I hear them before I see them. Standing slowly, not wanting to scare our new arrivals off, I stare into seven sets of hauntingly beautiful eyes. After a bit more bickering on if Ginny should really be allowed to come with us and those who can’t actually see the Thestrals expressing mild discomfort in having to ride them all the way to London, we’re on our way. 

I lounge against the back of mine, stroking its neck gently as I watch the country fade into city. While the wind is chilly and my fingers are nearly numb by the time we arrive, the ride was enjoyable. It’s oddly peaceful being up there, feeling the incredible power of the creature’s muscles working under me, knowing there’s no potential to get lost. My feet hit the street pavement with renewed energy, with a greater conviction. 

Harry informs us all that we’ll be going in through the visitor entrance. I have to assume this is because it’s the only way he’s ever gotten into the Ministry. We’re here hours after the last of the employees have left and could easily use the main entrance just a few blocks over. I keep my mouth shut though, squeezing myself into the small phone booth. This is Harry’s show now. My only job is to play along until the others arrive. 

We fall out into the main hall. The water in the fountain gurgles quietly, the only sound in the deserted building. The absence of people seems to put Harry on edge. He stiffly leads us to a row of lifts; head swiveling in every direction, wand already drawn. 

“Department of Mysteries,” the smooth voice of a woman fills the lift, doors sliding soundlessly open. 

For a few seconds, no one moves. We share a collective heartbeat. And then, as if pulled out of some kind of spell, Harry nods and everyone springs back into action. We rush up the hallway towards the door at the end. I know it well though I’ve never seen it. Harry’s described it over and over, enough that I feel as if I’ve been here before. 

As Harry opens the door, a new weight settles onto my shoulders. This is the test, the place I prove what I can do, my worth. There’s no turning back now, no second-guessing. Just like Harry, my destiny lies ahead, waiting for me to take it. A wicked smile settles on my face. 

We come into a circular room. There are doors evenly spaced around the walls, each heavy and ominous looking. Under different circumstances, my interest might be piqued. Not today. Today I have a task. 

“Shut the door,” Harry instructs. 

Bad idea. The second the door clicks shut the room heaves a great sigh, the walls beginning to rotate. We have no other option but to continue. It’s unlikely we’d be able to find the door we originally came through anymore. 

“Which door is it?” Ron questions, turning in slow circles. 

Harry frowns, shaking his head, “In my dreams, I just went through the door directly across from the first one.” 

“Well, we’ll have to find it.” 

Hermione sets off immediately, ripping doors open, waiting for Harry to tell her if she’s got the right one. Each time he shakes his head she paints a shining red X over door before shutting it. We continue this exercise for a few minutes, discovering a room with brains floating in a tank and one with a veiled archway that pulls everyone’s attention for a few moments longer than I would’ve liked before we finally get the right door. 

Harry ushers everyone inside, once again taking the lead. He races forward, desperation in his pace now that we’re so close. His eyes flick over the golden number plates at the end of the shelves, pulling us further into the dark pit of the room. 

As we race forward, I notice what’s housed on the shelves. Row upon infinite row of little glass orbs. Most are dusty, untouched for centuries. Each is outfitted with a yellowing tag. I’m able to read a few, all names, people whose lives are tied up in the swirling mist inside these fragile little bubbles. 

“Sirius?” Harry calls into the empty space, as we grow closer to where he told us Sirius should be.

But Sirius is nowhere to be seen. I partially figured this. While I wanted, needed, Harry to really believe his Godfather was in mortal peril, I had to agree with Hermione’s assessment. At the time the vision came through there was really no way Voldemort and Sirius could be here. They’re both on the Ministry’s Most Wanted list. They wouldn’t have been able to get in here undetected. 

Hermione looks around warily, peering around the end of the shelf and up the middle aisle, “You said it was row ninety-seven.”

“Yeah,” Harry answers. I can already hear the defeat in his tone. He knows, even if he doesn’t want to admit it just yet, he knows he’s made a mistake. “He should be near here. Anywhere here – really close – ”

“Harry?” 

“Somewhere, about here,” but all the convictions gone from Harry’s voice. He can’t hide it. Everyone can see there is no one here but us. 

Hermione’s frown deepens, “Harry?”

“What?”

“I – I don’t think Sirius is here.”

Harry shakes his head, stepping away from the group to wander up a few more aisles. I watch him carefully, wondering just how long he’s going to avoid facing his friends, just how long he’s going to let himself sit in denial. Maybe under different circumstances, I’d feel bad for him, but not now. Not when his own stubbornness brought him here. Not when Harry’s own self-absorbed rational landed him in this position. He should’ve listened, taken a step back and really thought about what his friends were telling him. Instead, Harry blindly followed, hell-bent on playing the hero just like always. He ate up every word of encouragement, only letting it drive him further into a decision. He never once thought it could be a trap, never once stopped to think logically. It’s his own damn fault he’s in this mess. He’s got no one to blame but himself. 

“Harry?” Ron stares up at one of the little orbs, head cocked to the side, fingers playing over the nametag connected to it. 

He hurries back to us, the hopeful glint in his eye disappearing the second he sees that there’s no evidence that Sirius was here, that Ron isn’t calling him back to share some tidbit of hope, “What?” 

“It – It’s got your name on it,” Ron tilts the tag so that Harry can see. While the tag itself is dusty and the ink lightened by time, there’s no denying the name.

Harry, not as tall as Ron, has to stand on his tiptoes to see the yellowing tag. 

“What is it?” Ron demands. “What’s your name doing down here?” 

As Harry goes to grab the glass orb, Hermione places a cautioning hand on his shoulder, “Don’t touch it, Harry.” 

While the others bicker about whether Harry should be allowed to take the orb or not, shadows move in, silent, barely visible in the low lighting of the hall. Stepping back to meet them, I draw my wand; time for pompous Potter to meet his match. 

“Very good, Potter,” Lucius’s voice cuts through the silence as Harry’s fingers curl around the prophecy, “Now, turn around nice and slowly, and give that to me.” 

Harry’s little group circles up, back to back, wands raised as more Death Eaters pour into the aisles, “Where’s Sirius?” 

“You know,” I start, a cruel smile spreading over my face, “you really should learn to tell the difference between dreams and reality.” 

“You? You’re one of them?” Harry’s disbelief quickly turns to rage. “I trusted you! We all trusted you!” 

“Now, now, Harry,” I chide clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, “there’s no need to shout.” Stepping away from Lucius I draw closer to the group, enjoying the way they shuffle together, trying to put more space between us. “You’re all so stupid. Eating out of the palm of my hand, believing every word that I fed you. Except for you – ” I stop in front of Hermione, running a finger along her cheek “ – filthy, little meddling mudblood.” 

“Don’t call her that!” Ron snarls, pushing Hermione a little behind him. 

Ignoring him, I turn to face Harry, “And you, Potter. I know you’ve got your head thoroughly lodged up your own arse, but I expected you at least to pick up on the last name. Umbridge only said it about a dozen times in detention, not to mention it being used in other classes. So worried about your stupid dreams and Quidditch and your dear old Godfather not writing to see that the Dark Lord slipped in one of his own right under your nose. Pathetic.” 

“It was you,” Harry’s eyes grow wide as realization finally sinks in. “You were in the graveyard that night.” 

I give him a cruel smile, “Very good, Potter. Perhaps you aren’t as unobservant as I suspected.” 

“I’ll – I’ll kill you,” Harry retorts but there’s no real conviction in his words as if he’s hoping this is still part of all the bad dreams he’s been having lately. 

“I’d like to see you try. Clever as the Devil and twice as lethal, this one. You’d hit the floor before you had time to raise your wand,” Suddenly, Lucius is back at my side, a hand curled protectively around my shoulder, the other held, palm up, towards Harry. “Now, if you’re done making threats, give me the Prophecy.” 

Harry, seeming to regain some of his confidence now that my wand isn’t jabbing into his chest, sets his jaw, giving Lucius a defiant look, “If you do anything to us, I’ll drop it.” 

“He knows how to play,” a cruel laugh floats up from between the shelves, Bellatrix gliding into view. The playful glint in her eyes turns to something evil and cold as they settle on Harry, her voice taking on a mocking, babyish tone, “Itty. Bitty. Baby.” 

Neville, who has kept his eyes trained on the floor through the whole ordeal, now lifts his head, anger creeping over his usually docile features, “Bellatrix Lestrange.” 

“Neville Longbottom, is it?” Bellatrix returns, looking over her nails as if bored, one eye swiveled in the boy’s direction. “How are mum and dad?” 

He swallows hard; squaring his shoulders, daring to take a step forward, away from the protection of the group, “Better, now they’re about to be avenged.” 

In the blink of an eye, Bellatrix has her wand out, pointed at Neville’s chest, the spell hanging off her lips. 

“Now,” Lucius steps between the two, “lets everybody just calm down, shall we?” 

Harry twists the Prophecy around in his fingers, staring at it, “Why did Voldemort need me to come and get this?” 

“You dare speak his name,” Bellatrix hisses, wand flicking from Neville to Potter. “You filthy half-blood!” 

Rolling my eyes, I shift my weight onto one leg, crossing my arms over my chest. So much talking, so little action, “Pipe down, Bellatrix. They all us it. Not scared anymore, convinced they’re all safe because that great lunatic Dumbledore and head up his arse Potter are there to save the day, keep them all safe.” I let out a scoff. “Idiots.” 

“You use it,” Ron challenges. 

Sneering at him, I tilt forward, getting in his face, “Yes, because unlike you, who has turned your back on what it means to be pure-blood, I have nothing to be afraid of.” 

“Harry,” Lucius spreads his arms as if going to give the boy a hug, “Harry, Prophecies can only be retrieved by those about whom they are made. Haven’t you always wondered what the reason was for the connection between you and the Dark Lord? Why he was unable to kill you when you were just an infant? Don’t you want to know the secret of your scar? All the answers are there, Potter, in your hand. All you have to do is give it to me. I can show you everything.” 

“I’ve waited fourteen years,” Harry shrugs. I can see in the way his fingers twitch against his wand, in the way his foot brushes up against Hermione’s that he’s about to strike. “I guess I can wait a little longer. Now!”


	23. Avada Kedavra

Five well-aimed spells send the shelves swaying dangerously. It only takes a second before they’re spilling over, Prophecies hitting the floor and creating just enough of a cover for Harry and his group to slip away. Death Eaters spring into action, making chase. As I go to follow, the snake-headed handle of Lucius’s wand catches my shoulder.

“Make this easy for us.”

I stare his down, teeth grazing against my bottom lip as I smirk up at him, “Can you keep them distracted long enough?”

“How long will you need?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, I do nothing to hide my arrogance. I love it when they look at me like this, with just a hint of fear, with that understanding flicker that I could just as easily turn my talents on them. I like that I can get that response from Lucius especially, “Just give me as long as you can. I’ll make it work.” _I always do_ , I mumble under my breath as I stride off to find a safe place to perform the task.

My other 'unique ability', as Sirius calls it. From an early age, I was able to slip from my own body, invading another’s, bending them to my whims. My physical body would stay silent, sat in one place, completely still as my soul, that’s what I like to call it anyway, floated about. I don’t remember the first time it happened, but I’m told I was very young, two maybe. The first time I can remember, I’d give my caretaker at the time quite a fright. She took me to the doctor. The muggle healers called it projection, said I looked awake, but was really sleeping. The wizarding folk knew what it was; powerful and dangerous…possession. It’s masterable by any witch or wizard if they choose to pursue it, but it is a very rare, nearly unheard of, gift to be born with.

I use it sparingly and never on people I care about. It’s the only secret I adamantly keep hidden from Draco. Because I’m scared to see his reaction, terrified to see that little crease of worry appear between his eyebrows as he begins to question every action, every feeling he’s had around me. I don’t want to see the trust we’ve built melt away from him. Lucius has been sworn to secrecy under threat of death, a threat he knows only too well I’d actually carry out. He keeps his lips sealed when Draco is around.

Harry is a different story. I don’t care. I have a task and he is the vessel through which I can most easily accomplish it. That’s how this works. It’s how we ensure results. Now just to find a place to stow myself away while I do the deed. No good to be sitting out in the open, unprotected, with so many people poking around, likely looking to kill me.

I’m told that as I get older, as I use the ability more, as my powers grow, I’ll simply be able to transform my whole self, sending not just my soul but my essence, my whole being, into another. If only I’d mastered that already. It’d be much more convenient than hiding out in some corner hoping for the best.

What I need to do is fairly simple. Slide into Harry’s consciousness and have him hand the Prophecy to Lucius. He’d listen, storing the memory away to be shared with the Dark Lord later. Then, once Harry again had the orb, I’d pull back into myself, leaving the boy completely clueless albeit a bit confused at his seemingly sudden change of scenery. It should only take a few minutes.

But being inside Harry feels wrong. It is too cramped like something else is already here. I can’t sidle in next to his consciousness like I can with others. This thing, this whatever it is, already inside feels dark, unwelcoming, hateful. The mere presence of it is suffocating. I wonder if Harry even notices, if this malevolent thing living amongst his own soul has any effect. My guess is no. Just like most things in his life, I’m quite certain Harry is blissfully unaware of this. As I fight for control, it pushes back, unwilling to relinquish even a little. Before I’m able to fully grasp what is happening, I’m shoved back into my own form. Failure. Whatever that this is, it’s stronger than me.

“Isabelle?” Lucius searches my face. The others must have the group preoccupied. I wonder how he found me. I thought I was relatively well hidden under this desk shoved in the back of a room just off the Prophecy hall, “What happened?”

I blink up at him, not sure if I have a voice. I have to clear my throat a few times before I can get out more than a shaky croak, “I – there was – was something else. It pushed me out.”

“You aren’t able to possess him?” Where I expected there to be anger and disappointment, there is just disbelief, mild horror. “Could you try again?”

A shudder runs down my spine at the memory of the thing. I shake my head, “No. No, I think – I think it would try to hurt me.”

“Very well,” Lucius swallows hard, rearranging his face to a more appropriate stoic expression. Up until this point, I had no idea there was a part of him that actually cared about me, “We’ll just get it another way.”

A more compassionate sentiment than I deserve.

I’m swept off to another room under Lucius’s arm. They’ve already got the others. Each member of the D.A. struggles against the grip of a Death Eater, wands pointed at their hearts. So it’s come to mass execution. At least they’ll all die together, better than alone, I suppose.

Lucius seems to have other plans though. He leaves my side, gliding towards Harry who has been left in the middle of the room to stand witness to his friend’s demise. How appropriate. Perhaps my new founded grudge towards him is unfair. I hardly doubt it was Harry himself who pushed me out. Still, I’ve never been thwarted before and the sting can only be directed at the physical form, the thing harboring whatever evil put a stop to my plans.

“Did you actually believe, were you truly naïve enough, to think that children stood a chance against us?” The soft tone that Lucius used with Harry earlier is long gone, replaced now with stony mockery, “I’ll make this simple for you, Potter. Give me the Prophecy now or watch your friends die.”

“Don’t give it to him!” Neville shouts in a moment of bravery. For the first time, I take a good look at who’s holding him captive, Bellatrix. I let out a snort of laughter; how ironic. I guess she’s truly set on wiping out the whole family.

Harry stares down Lucius, a fixed look of defiance on his face. His blind stubbornness will be his downfall.

Dolohov, nearly as impatient with inaction as I am, turns his wand away from his captive, pointing it at Harry, “ _Accio Proph_ – ”

But he doesn’t have time to get the whole spell out. A black mass careens into his side, tipping him off balance. In an instant, the room erupts into shouts of spells and jets of bright light. For a group that usually operates as every man for themselves, we group up well. Each Death Eater has a partner, shooting off spells back to back, protecting each other.

I keep my shoulders pushed into Lucius’s back as more members of the Order spill into the room. Lucius and I guide each other with our elbows, pushing each other in the direction we need to go.

“ _Impedimenta_!”

Tonks goes flying backward, knocking into the stone bleachers set up around the room. She’s replaced with Moody and I’m forced to drag Lucius down with me in order to avoid the jet of green light issuing from his wand. In my roll, I knock into someone else, bringing them down.

As I sit, flicking my wrist to send whatever curse is coming my way back at the attacker, I’m met with a pair of deep grey eyes. His lips flicker into a smile as he realizes it’s me, oblivious to the danger I pose.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I hiss at him as he drags me behind a piece of the stone steps that’s been blasted to the ground.

Sirius peeks over our cover, shooting off a wordless curse, “Neither should you.”

“I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

He settles next to me, back pushing into the rock, arms still tense, ready to attack at a second’s notice, “Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” I scoff at him, at how simple he’s making this situation. “Don’t you see, I’ve made my choice? It’s them.”

Sirius’s look softens, a silent plea in his eyes, “Don’t let your pride cloud your vision.”

“This has nothing to do with pride.”

He lowers his wand; exposing his tattooed chest to me, “Then do what it is you’re meant to do.”

I stare at him, eyes sliding down to the swirling ink on his exposed chest. Slipping my eyes shut, I raise my wand with a shaking hand, the curse hanging on my tongue. This is war. People have to die. That's just how it is. Sighing, I lower my wand. 

Sirius smiles, "You're not a bad person, Isabelle. We can help you."

“Get the hell out of here,” I hiss with a shake of my head, before slipping back into the fight.

Lucius is back on his course to try and coax Harry into giving him the Prophecy, promising an end to the fight. I cover his back, shooting off curses and deflecting anything that comes towards him. The only thing we need is the Prophecy, everything else is just collateral damage.

“NO!” Harry grunts out, tossing the Prophecy to Neville who seems to be under some kind of hex, his legs moving about as if he’s trying to perform a rather complicated tap dance.

It happens in a second. Neville realizes what Harry is doing just a moment too late. The glass orb slips past his outstretched fingers, shattering in a little burst of dust. Lucius lets out a growl of rage.

“Isabelle!”

Spinning, I come face to face with Lupin. His eyes narrow, trailing from my face to my arm. I follow the path. In the fight, my jacket sleeve has hiked up, the mark clearly visible.

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

Lupin’s wand flies through the air, clattering to the ground a few paces away from him. He dives for it. I give him the time. There’s no fun in it if you can’t toy with your prey just a little. I have just enough time to see Sirius streak past, locked in a fight with Bellatrix.

As Remus throws a curse at me, I send it ricocheting in another direction, the blast hitting Ginny in the back, “There’s still a different path.”

“Why do you all keep saying that?” I huff back, once again deflecting his curse. This is too easy, boring even. I wish he’d give me a challenge instead of sending off weak nothings. “I’m where I want to be. Where people accept me.”

“You were always accepted with us,” he pants back, his gaze soft, matching me step for step.

“No,” I shake my head, sending off a wordless hex that sends him flying backward. “I wasn’t.”

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

I spin to see where the curse is coming from, tensed to jump out of the way if necessary. A line of bright green light hits Sirius square in the chest. His voice dies out mid-laugh, the sparkle in his eyes lingering for a split second. Everything else falls away, jets of light fly past my head, bits of the stone steps flying up and landing only inches away but I hear none of it. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. I don’t realize I’m moving until there is a sharp tug on the back of my jacket, Lucius hissing my ear, “Don’t. We need to go. He’s here.”

My brain switches back on.


	24. Numb

“I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black!” Bellatrix’s elated laughter bounces up the walls.

I can share in none of it. My feet move without me directing them, mind floating ten paces behind, that dying light in his eyes still playing before mine. She did what I couldn’t, what I refused to do even though he was allowing me. Should I have? Would that have been the kind thing to do? I can’t feel my fingers. My lungs scream for oxygen that I refuse to give them. Pain keeps me anchored, helps me come back into focus. I’ve still got a part to play. There isn’t time for pointless regrets. I knew people would die.

“ _Crucio_!” Harry flies into the main hall, wand pointed at Bellatrix.

She falls, twisting to look at him through fluttering eyelashes, “You have to mean it, Potter.”

I have a job to do. _Do the job_. I force myself to swallow, flicking my wand in Harry’s direction, letting my hurt bleed into his thoughts. He lets out a gasp, spinning towards me.

“You never have been very good at Occlumency Harry – ” _You have a part to play. Play it well. What’s the point if you can’t put on a good show?_ I begin circling Potter, watching the way he twitches, allowing myself to enjoy it. “You’re much too compassionate to kill her.”

“Shut up!” Harry bellows, his words echoing off the tiled walls back at me.

I sneer at him, compartmentalizing, allowing myself to find the pleasure in the torment, “Make me.”

Harry grunts, screwing his eyes shut as he tries to push me out of his head. His efforts are weak, fruitless. The anger coursing through him, the pure hatred for Bellatrix, for all of us, prevents him from getting a handle on my intrusion. If nothing else it confirms that it definitely was not Harry himself who pushed me from him earlier.

“It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom. And to involve your daughter, now that’s just irresponsible,” Dumbledore’s smooth voice floats through the space.

The cruel chuckle alerts me to my father’s arrival. He looms over me, gently placing his hand on my shoulder, “Isabelle is perfectly capable.”

A jet of fiery red shoots from Dumbledore’s wand at the same time the figures of the fountain burst into life. Harry is trapped in a spot of safety, Bellatrix pinned to the floor.

“No!” With a flick of my wrist, the spell Dumbledore aimed at my father ricochets, exploding against the wall, sending little bits of tile raining down on us.

Voldemort sneers, “Incredible little talent she’s got, the ability to control her magic without the aid of a wand. Perhaps better than you.”

“More powerful than you’ll ever be, Tom,” Dumbledore returns, his eyes momentarily flickering to me, an intense interest burning in them.

“The child?” Voldemort lets out a cold, cruel laugh, shaking his head at the idea that must seem ludicrous to him. “Hardly.”

“Underestimating the ability of a child is foolish.”

But my father is done with pointless chitchat. A jet of green light erupts from the end of his wand. Dumbledore makes a well-timed left slide, the spell meeting with a desk, the object instantly bursting into flames. Knowing this isn’t my fight, and having no one to go up against, I wander over to where Harry is trapped. I’ll be out of the way here.

“I’ll kill you,” Harry hisses as I sit down opposite him, leaning my back against the ring of tile around the fountain.

I stare down at the mark on my arm, “Perfectly reasonable.”

“He trusted you,” Harry spits back, trying to draw out a temper I don’t have. “He spent the whole summer with you, teaching you. He saw you as a friend.”

Glancing up, I meet Harry’s eyes for a second. So unlike Sirius’s. For this I’m thankful. I don’t think I could stomach seeing such accusation reflected in dark grey. The image of Sirius bearing his chest, no fear in his eyes flashes, “Yes. I suppose he did.”

“He’s dead! Don’t you care?”

I let my gaze flick back to my arm, my stomach twisting, opting to answer truthfully. I suppose, after everything, he at least deserves that, “I haven’t decided yet.”

Out of all the skills I’ve mastered, I’m most thankful for my ability to shut certain things out. It’s not a particularly special talent, anyone, magic or not, can pull it off, but it’s incredibly helpful. I tuck the pain, the guilt, the sick feeling rising in my throat, away. I can see what’s happening around me, watch as Voldemort and Dumbledore pull out all the stops, as Harry glowers at me, wishing me dead with his eyes, but I don’t feel any of it. I’m not really here.

This is easier. The numb nothing. The feeling takes me back to third year. I didn’t understand the feeling at the time, only recognized it as unexplainable despair. Lupin had put a name to it; depression, not uncommon for people my age. At the time I’d hated it, hated how detached I felt from everything like I was watching someone else live my life. By the time summer came around, I had gotten a better handle on it. Certain ways I could breathe, different things I could pick up in the background to keep me more grounded. By that time I learned that part of the issue was my ability to detach from myself. I had to keep my soul in my body, the exercises helped. I learned to live with it, to not let myself slip into the feeling. It’s always there though. Tonight I’m thankful for that.

I almost don’t feel his fingers curl around my wrist, the unceremonious tug. Before we disappear, I get a last glimpse of Harry’s eyes, still bearing so much hatred.

“ _I’ll kill you_.”

Maybe he really will.

And as I twirl through the thick darkness, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. This life, this infinite power that I’ve been told, since birth, I would claim feels lonely. It feels like giving up a part of myself. As my father’s eyes come back into focus, gleaming red against the dark night sky, I don’t feel all-powerful. That stunned silent look in Sirius’ eyes flashes over and over with each blink, haunting me. Tonight’s events, supposed to show me what destiny holds, didn’t bring about the sense of glory or honor I was expecting. Instead, I just feel empty, tired, and totally isolated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, guys. Thank you to everyone who read and left comments and kudos. It means more than you'll ever know. I am in the process of writing the sixth year and will post the first chapter in a couple of weeks probably. 
> 
> Thank you for coming on this journey with me :)


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